


0024L

by abluemountainashtardis



Series: 0013X [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Experimentation, Government Agencies, Imprisonment, Isolation, M/M, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, content warning violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluemountainashtardis/pseuds/abluemountainashtardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had marched straight into dad’s office with requisition papers. Showed his dad all the appropriate paperwork, then Stiles was being bundled into the back of a black SUV. All courtesy of the Supernatural Awareness Bill of 2003. Stiles was officially ‘Detained Until further Notice’. </p><p>-</p><p>Stiles had learnt It had Its own method of communicating how It wanted Stiles. The method of manhandling. Stiles just wanted to get warm, and that extra set of biscuits at supper.</p><p>So Stiles would curl around It, and It would press Its nose into Stiles’ neck. If it was a mockery of intimacy the Division wanted, well then that’s what the Division would get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by geeky sova's art work
> 
> http://geeky-sova.tumblr.com/post/88978065479/yearning-belated-birthday-gift-for-stacey
> 
> This is a completed work, posted in segments for effect.

The room was cold.

 

Stiles groaned, curling up in an attempt to conserve some body heat. He didn’t know how long the temperature had been dropping but his fingers were already so cold they hurt.

 

Stiles remembered the first time they froze the room. He had been in the facility for maybe three months and he had been sure he was going to die, that he was an expired experiment. He knew better now – the cold was an incentive. His incentive.

 

His breath started to come out as a light mist and the shivers wracking his body slowly increased in severity. Stiles forced his eyes open to look around his tiny, grey, cell – eyes easily drawn to the hoodie – a bright patch of colour against the steely silver. Stiles pushed off his metal bunk and automatically flinched as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He gritted his teeth and walked over to the door to retrieve the hoodie. He pulled it on and huddled into it – not even bothering to go back to his bunk - just slumped down the freezing wall, sinking onto the ground next to the door.

 

There had been an incident – back in the beginning - where he had refused to wear the hoodie. They had made it so cold he couldn’t move then dressed him forcibly. Stiles didn’t understand what importance the jumper had in this nightmare, maybe the colour meant something to It. Like Its eyes. Maybe it was a trigger for a reaction. Like bulls charging.

 

Maybe someone in charge had a sick sense of humour and he was being forced to play to their comical whims.

 

Either way he never hesitated to put the stupid red jumper on now.

 

The door slid open and a handler came in to attach a leash to Stiles’ wrist cuff. Stiles didn’t struggle. There was no struggle against the Division.

 

He was led through identical off-white corridors on a familiar route. Third left. Elevator. Down two floors. Right. Second left. Third right. First door on the left.

 

The meeting room was kept chilled to keep him from warming up by himself. It was empty of everything but the black observation mirrored window, the chair that was bolted to the floor, and the beast that sat in it.

 

A monster with a deformed face, pointed ears, fangs, red eyes, claws, super strength, and a menacing demeanour. Its ankles were strapped to the chair legs and Its torso was strapped to the chair back. Only four flimsy bits of leather separated Stiles from the beast.

 

Stiles was unleashed by his handler and left alone with It.

 

The first few visits had consisted of Stiles curling into a corner while It stared at him. Angrily. Glared was probably a more accurate term. Its stare was intense. Dangerous. Stiles had no idea what was happening or why. Someone removed him after an hour or two, taking him back to his room where it took days for the chilly ache to leave his bones.

 

Then there had been the incident where he had resisted wearing the hoodie. Frozen to the bone he had came into the room and basically collapsed on the floor in a heap, shaking and shivering violently – probably getting hypothermia or something. He had heard a loud clank and opened his eyes. It had broken one of the straps around Its ankles. Stiles had glanced up at Its face - Its eyes. It stilled and stared at him before holding out one of Its clawed hands. Stiles had gritted his teeth and took the hand. It was like It had a furnace under Its skin. Stiles had gasped letting It pull him in close and lift him up onto Its lap. Stiles had shut his eyes and stuck his toes under Its thigh, and cried silently as his body painfully heated up. When he was back in his cell he got a plate of biscuits after his dinner.

 

After that it became abundantly clear to Stiles what he was supposed to do in these little meetings with It – although what It was getting out of these visits Stiles never asked. As far as he knew It couldn’t talk.

 

He took a step towards the beast, keeping watch for any outward sign of refusal before taking the next which put him solidly between Its knees. Its hands curled around Stiles’ waist and Stiles took a breath before sitting on Its lap. Straddling, or curled up, or chest to back, or on one of Its knees. Stiles had learnt It had Its own method of communicating how It wanted Stiles. The method of manhandling. Stiles just wanted to get warm, and that extra set of biscuits at supper.

 

So Stiles would curl around It, and It would press Its nose into Stiles’ neck. If it was a mockery of intimacy the Division wanted, well then that’s what the Division would get.

 

-

 

Stiles thought it was the boredom that would kill him. Five by five feet of cold grey steel. Steel metal bunk. Steel table. Steel chair (the toilet, the sink – also steel grey and freezing).

 

There was a set routine – for the days where he wasn’t dragged off for some weird forced hugging with his own personal hugging monster. The lights were switched on. Then breakfast – some sort of porridge – was brought in by a handler on a tray. Then he was leashed and taken to the showers (with cubicles, thank god, even if the walls were kinda see through). Then it was back to the room. Eventually it was lunch. Usually bread and soup. Then it was time for the rec room. _Books_. Stiles had recently been entertaining the merits of stuffing them down his pants to sneak them back into his room.

 

There were three or four of them on any given day in the rec room. A small room, which was far bigger than his little dingy cell, with three old yellow couches that had rips in the upholstery, and a window the size of the wall for observation. A pile of books sat in the middle instead of a table, and sometimes he made friends with the other detainees – but none of them ever stayed for long.

 

Stiles always thought they looked a bit on the sickly side.

 

Except for Danny. Danny had hacked into the Division mainframe. After a few weeks of ‘protective custody’ Division made him an offer to join their IT Department. Stiles was both relieved for him and angry at him. He had been older, not old older, just older teenager old, and he was so cool and he had a beautiful smile and a beautiful –

 

Stiles sighed, rubbing at his eyes before going back to his book. The books were on rotation too, otherwise Stiles really would go mad in this place.

 

Then dinner. Mash potatoes and… something… meatballs or nuggets or something. Then the lights would send him into pitch darkness and he would lie on a cold metal bunk, tired, bored, and sore. Then the day would begin again.

 

-

 

Today his monster grabbed his wrist and twisted it funny when It pulled him onto Its lap. Stiles bit his lip and sat quiet and shivering, letting It pet his head in an absent minded way. By the time he left the meeting room Stiles’ wrist was black and swollen. He showed it to the handler in the elevator who had groaned but punched in a different floor number, guiding Stiles to a little medical room where a lady with a dead smile and a stethoscope checked him over. He got a little pill for the pain and an icepack for the swelling. Then she snuck him a fruit pastel when the handler wasn’t looking. It was a strange but nice little interlude.

 

-

 

Something was wrong today.

 

Stiles could see it in Its face. When Stiles stepped closer It stared past him, an exhausted bone-weary look etching itself onto Its deformed face. Stiles frowned and looked up to the observation window, it appeared dark, empty, and unhelpful just like the people he knew were on the other side.

 

Stiles knew – rationally – that It wouldn’t hurt him, hadn’t hurt him.

 

Stiles knew – rationally – that the Division would hurt him, had hurt him: even still Stiles was terrified of the thing in front of him.

 

Stiles also knew that he was dropping more weight than he was keeping – and he had been skinny to start with. Those extra biscuits after successful hugging sessions kept him from going hungry some nights.

 

So Stiles stretched out his hand, fingers curving round Its cheek. It closed Its eyes. Stiles held his breath for a long few seconds before It leaned into his hand. Stiles relief was palpable, short lived though it was before he felt terrified again. It grabbed Stiles’ arms and pulled him in tight. Stiles went sprawling before managing to get his balance by straddling It. His hand curved round Its head when It pressed Its face into Stiles’ neck, Its hands fiercely clutching at the hoodie. Stiles stamped down on his own fear and carded his fingers through Its hair, trying to remain pliant in Its frantic grip.

 

“Shh, shh,” Stiles breathed gently, soothing It. It obviously needed soothing today. It whined into Stiles’ throat. It sounded sad. Stiles could only keep shushing.

 

When their allotted time had gone by the time the door swung open again, but instead of letting go It clung on tighter. Stiles tensed but nothing else happened. Stiles heard the door close and It loosened Its grip slightly. Stiles rubbed his hand up and down Its back.

 

-

 

Stiles had fallen asleep and woken up on Its shoulder. He blinked, bleary, sitting up and stretching out his arms before It wrapped Its limbs around Stiles again. Stiles had no idea how much time he had spent in Its clutches now, but he was pretty sure he had missed the biscuits and supper. He analysed the situation. It was still holding him but the desperation from the grip had lessened. Stiles pulled back so he could look at Its face. It stared back at him expectantly.

 

“You need to let me go now,” Stiles said trying to keep his voice light. His remark got the reaction he had expected. It locked Its arms tight around Stiles’ hips so he couldn’t move an inch. “Can I explain, please?” Stiles asked.

 

Stiles was pretty sure It was pouting but It titled Its head at him anyway.

 

“Something’s been different about today,” Stiles said running his fingers along the back of Its neck. “And we’ve had longer than normal but,” Stiles sighed looking at It. “Sooner or later they’re going to break us apart. We can choose to do so on our terms or on theirs – but that’s the only illusion of choice we have here.”

 

It huffed before pulling Stiles into Its chest. Stiles sighed longingly. “I’m kinda hungry too,” he mumbled to himself. His mutterings however caused It to push him back again. Stiles froze under Its gaze. It eyed up and down his body. Stiles felt his cheeks heat up and he looked away. Then claws slipped up the inside of his t-shirt. He gasped, fingers tightening on Its shoulders. “Stop. Stop please,” Stiles whispered as the claws trailed up his stomach to his torso, before tracing the dips inbetween his ribs. It frowned. Stiles closed his eyes and tried not to think about how close those flesh rendering claws were to his heart.

 

It slowly pulled Its hands away and let Its arms drop to Its sides. Stiles was dumbfounded for a moment.

 

“Are you – can I - ?”

 

Stiles slowly scooted off of It, but It didn’t grab him back. When Stiles had removed himself from It and taken a few steps back the door swung open and a handler slipped a leash onto his wrist cuff, leading him easily back to his room and removing the hoodie.

 

Stiles started getting sausages with breakfast.

 

-

 

“Hey, Stiles.”

 

Stiles lifted his head as a familiar figure sat down next to him on the couch.

 

“Matt.”

 

Matt had come in with a vicious curl to his mouth about a month ago. He had slowly become a shell, transforming into a boy who jumped at shadows and shook with fear from his handlers. Matt was only a year older at sixteen, but then again Stiles wasn't sure he was fifteen yet.

 

“Stiles,” Matt whispered quietly. Stiles turned to Matt properly. “I think they’re going to take me away.”

 

“They’ve already taken you away, Matt,” Stiles said letting his eyes flick casually to the handler on the other side of the glass wall. The rec room made him feel like a zoo animal sometimes.

 

“This isn’t funny, Stiles,” Matt spat.

 

“I wasn’t being funny, Matt,” Stiles said evenly. “What's wrong?”

 

“I’m turning into a freak!”

 

Stiles tried not to show any unease at Matt’s sudden outburst. The handler at the door had slipped his hand into his pocket, palming his shock remote.

 

“You’re not – “

 

Matt launched himself across the couch, knocking Stiles flat on his back. Stiles heaved as the breath rushed out of him and stayed out as Matt settled his weight on Stiles’ chest. Matt rucked up his t-shirt and shoved his abdomen into Stiles’ face. Stiles peripherally aware that Matt’s wrist cuff was giving off an electric shock, of the handler radioing for backup, of it getting harder to breath with Matt’s crushing weight on his chest – but the majority of his attention was fixed to Matt’s exposed torso.

 

“They’re making monsters here,” Matt whispered with a manic glint in his eye. Stiles stared dumbly at the green and purpling scales in patches over Matt’s chest and torso. Stiles was shocked.

 

He stayed numb and silent as the handlers subdued Matt. Another handler took him back to his room. The candy lady came by and checked him over for injuries. Stiles just sat through it all, Matt’s words ringing through his head like a death knoll, sinking down into his subconscious and into his nightmares _they’re making monsters here._

 

He never saw Matt again.

 

-

 

It tapped Stiles’ lips. Stiles jerked back in surprised.

 

“What?”

 

It gave an approximation of a smile. Stiles was puzzled. A few moments later It huffed and tapped Stiles’ lips again. Stiles frowned. It frowned back. Then pinched Stiles’ lips.

 

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Stiles griped, edging away. It pulled Stiles back with a little grin on Its face. Stiles grit his teeth. It better not think his pain was amusing – what would happen to him if It did? A few moments later and It tapped his lips again. Stiles glared. It pinched Stiles’ lips again.

 

“Right. I’m not going to sit here and let you – ” Stiles started trying to push off of It, but It grabbed Stiles’ jaw. Its huge hands slid back until it was grasping the hinge of Stiles’ jaw, squeezing until the pressure opened Stiles’ mouth. Then It let go. Stiles was nearly in tears.

 

“What do you want? Why don’t you just tell me? Can you even talk? What - “

 

Stiles cut himself off when he spotted the wry grin and the object of Its gaze. When he had been silent for a few more moments It glanced up at Stiles’ eyes and tapped his lips.

 

“You want me to… talk?” Stiles asked incredulously. It gave Its monstrous grin. “Alright. How about a story?” It didn’t indicate a preference. “Right. Em. I’m reading Midsummer Night’s Dream at the moment. It’s Shakespeare but I think I’m getting it.”

 

Stiles was around halfway through when the door swung open. It seemed a little reluctant to let go of Stiles. Stiles patted It on the shoulder before getting up.

 

“Don’t worry, I was about to run out of story. I’ll read the ending and tell you next time, okay?” Stiles reassured softly. All It did in response was follow him with Its glowing red eyes out of the room. Stiles waited until they were in the elevator before he spoke the words he’d had thrumming in his head for the past hour.

 

“What would you do if It really did just want to hurt me? Would you let It? What’s more important It getting what It wants or my safety?”

 

His handler said nothing.

 

-

 

The residents of the rec room had seized seats far away from each other, sitting in silence. Stiles hated it when that happened, but understood, sometimes you just weren’t in the mood talk - to rehash the same conversation with someone new, especially not with the weird twitchy kid.

 

They all raised their heads at the howl.

 

“What was that?” whispered a woman with sandy blonde hair.

 

“Perhaps we’re better off not knowing,” said an older gentleman.

 

Stiles tried to go back to his book, tried to ignore the looks the handlers were giving each other. The radio calls happening – until one was staring right at him while making said call. The handler marched into the room.

 

“What’s your serial number?”

 

“Double zero twenty-four L,” Stiles rattled off the number etched into his wrist cuff tense, shoving his book into the waistband of his sweatpants.

 

“You’re with me,” the handler said pulling a leash from his utility vest. Stiles stood up slowly and held out his cuffed arm, letting himself be leashed and taken away, playing pass the parcel where he was the prize, being switched between different handlers as they got further through the base, each handler looking a little more harried than the last. The howls were getting louder.

 

Eventually he was stopped at doors. Doors to outside. The sky. Stiles stared at it until a sharp shock from his cuff had him spinning around. An attractive blonde woman gave him a smile. She was dressed in black, different from the handlers in their pale slightly green Division uniforms.

 

“Double oh twenty four L?” she asked with a smile. “Stiles?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Stiles replied cautiously.

 

“Excellent,” she stated taking the leash from the handler and turning to walk away. Stiles hesitated for an instant, glancing back at the sky. Another shock got him moving. She's trigger happy, Stiles thought bitterly.

 

“We have a bit of a situation, Stiles,” she said succinctly. “We’re hoping you’ll help. You’ve proven to be very resourceful.”

 

“What?” Stiles asked confused.

 

“You hear that?” she asked waving a hand to the growling while a handler was running up to them with a familiar hoodie packaged in his hands.

 

“The howling and growling? Yes…” Stiles answered cautiously.

 

“That’s your monster,” she said, unleashing Stiles and putting the hoodie on Stiles. “Be a dear and calm him down,” she said with a wink before pushing him into the arms of a handler.

 

Stiles went numb.

 

He was going to be fed to a feral beast.

 

He started to struggle against the handler’s hold but with no avail. Two handlers were standing at a braced door. A door to outside. To the growling. To the monster

 

“Three, two, one.”

 

Stiles was tossed through the opened door.

 

-

 

Stiles managed to stay on his feet. He was momentarily distracted by the friction burn from the concrete on the path outside. God he was outside. He wriggled his toes on the ground then he took a deep breath in, turning around slowly to look around. It was a courtyard of some kind. Walls on all sides, mainly concrete paths with little garden patches scattered around – and a large fountain in the middle.

 

The growling had stopped. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

 

He slowly made his way to the fountain and sat on the low wall, pulling out the book he was reading in the rec room from his trouser waistband.

 

“Enter Titania, Bottom, Peasblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed, and other fairies. Oberon enters behind unseen. Titania. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, and stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, and kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy…”

 

Stiles sat and read from the play, and even when he sensed It coming closer he didn’t let his voice waver. When It eventually came up behind him and seized him Stiles kept reading. Even though the monster clung too tight and pierced his skin with Its claws Stiles didn’t let his tears interfere with his voice. He read even when his voice became scratchy and hoarse.

 

“That’s the end of the Act,” Stiles said gently closing the book. It growled menacingly behind Stiles. Stiles could feel the sound reverberate in Its chest. “Hey no, you always get upset before I can explain,” Stiles said with a slight tinge of hysteria. It huffed into the back of Stiles’ neck and Stiles tried desperately to ignore the smell of blood lingering on Its breath. “It’s just that they could interrupt us at time and I don’t want to have to stop in the middle of a good bit,” he said lightly. “But I can still talk – if you like?” Stiles asked licking his chapped lips. Receiving no positive or negative response he decided to continue chatting.

 

“You know this is the first time I’ve been outside since… since arriving,” Stiles said angling his head up to look at the sky, catching a glimpse of some people in windows. With guns. “Hey, you wanna walk? Or…?” Stiles twisted round to finally look at It. He had to hold in his panic. Blood coated nearly all of It. It was crouching in the fountain behind him, turning the water slightly pink. Bare foot and covered in mud and bits and –

 

“You want to wash your hands?” Stiles asked holding on to his last shred of calm. “Come on you’re getting me all…” Stiles bit his lip trying not to think what it was. “Covered in it.”

 

It simply stared at Stiles, occasionally glancing at Its surroundings. Stiles sighed and slouched. “You’re hurting me too,” Stiles whispered under his breath.

 

One of Its claws let go and Stiles heard the water splash, then a damp hand encircled his wrist. The other claw extracted itself and also went into the fountain.

 

“I’m glad it’s not raining. That would have…” Stiles exhaled. “I probably would have loved it either way.” Stiles waited a beat and an arm came round his middle and lifted him up. Stiles flailed slightly before It readjusted their position and put him back down on Its damp lap, stealing Stiles’ perch from right underneath him.

 

“Gross, you’re all soggy,” Stiles muttered. It bounced Stiles on Its knee making Stiles burst out with a yelp and a hysterical giggle at the shock of it. “Oh my god we’re probably the most free we’re ever going to be and we’re basically replicating what we do in the cell.”

 

It stilled.

 

Stiles backtracked.

 

“Not that there’s anything wrong with -”

 

Stiles was suddenly thrown back and engulfed in water, he rolled over coughing. “Oh my – you – uhg I’m soaked! I can’t believe you -”

 

Stiles was cut off from his tirade by a huge wave of water. Stiles spluttered. “Right, you're on!” he shouted beginning to splash back.

 

A few minutes later Stiles called out his surrender, slumping with laughter on top of the spout. It army-crawled through the water to join him. It gave a monster grin, scooped up water in Its mouth, and spouted it out again – mimicking the fountain. Stiles rolled his eyes at Its antics, letting it army crawl over him until Its chin was on his chest. Its body lying on top of his. Stiles lifted his hands and carded his finger through the dark tangled mop. He stopped when he came to a sticky clump suddenly remembering what his monster had done.

 

“We need to go inside,” Stiles whispered. It avoided Stiles’ gaze. “I don't know what happened today but we can't live in this fountain forever. We gotta face the music,” Stiles coaxed.

 

It made a face and tilted Its head slightly. Stiles waited patiently for It to reach a decision. Eventually It turned back to him and stared into Stiles’ eyes. It rose up a few inches and edged closer, Its eyes flitting down to Stiles' lips. Stiles' breath hitched.

 

“Only if you promise to come back inside. Straight away,” Stiles breathed. It stopped for a moment before sinking back down into the water. Stiles felt himself relax but then quick as a flash It surged up and kissed him on the lips.

 

Stiles’ eyes shut closed tight before springing open with shock. The lips pressing nearly chastely against his were gentle. It was being incredibly gentle. It soon pulled away slowly by barely an inch, running Its nose along Stiles' jawline. Stiles took a minute to get his breath back.

 

“Ready to stand up now?” Stiles asked shakily. It let loose a rumble in Its chest before removing Its weight from Stiles and standing. It then crouched down and brought Stiles to his feet, helping him step out of the fountain. Stiles smiled “What a gentleman,” he cooed. It ducked Its head shy. Stiles grabbed the play from the ground before they slowly made their way to the door Stiles had entered the courtyard by. Stiles knocked on the door. It whined and pushed Its nose into the back of Stiles’ neck.

 

“Everything's going to be fine.”

 

-

 

Everything was not fine.

 

Stiles wheezed and turned onto his side to cough. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

 

The pretty blonde woman in charge promised him a reward for being so good and getting his monster inside, but his job wasn't done yet.

 

Stiles could hear the electric shock now before it hit him. A high pitch frequency that pinged for three seconds, charging before releasing: an advantage of turning up the voltage. Then pain flooded his system, his body convulsed - almost dangerously so - but that was the point.

 

Through the observation window of the small medical room he was in Stiles could see the outline of his monster watching his torture. This pain wasn't for him, it was for It. A deterrent from ever attacking Division ever again.

 

Well… Stiles was deterred.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It had been sunny when he had been taken. Summer before sophomore year.

 

He had noticed the car following him from Scott’s house, and when he decided to jump over a fence to take a shortcut through Mrs Patterson’s yard he heard the car screech to catch up with him.

 

Stiles whipped out his phone. “Dad?”

 

“ _Hey kiddo,_ ” his dad croaked back.

 

“Dad, I’m being followed by a car with Division plates.”

 

“ _That’s a new one -_ ”

 

“Dad, I’m being deadly serious. I, like, I swear on mom’s grave.”

 

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

 

“ _Where are you?_ ”

 

“Mrs Patterson’s back yard?” Stiles said with a wince.

 

“ _I’m going to have a car come pick you up. Stay there. Is Mrs Patterson in?_ ”

 

“No, she’s never in at this time.”

 

“ _Okay son, stay on the phone._ ”

 

The squad car had picked him up and taken him to the precinct without any trouble. Stiles stayed there for three hours before the Division agents came trotting in.

 

“We’re looking for the Stilinskis.”

 

They had marched straight into dad’s office with requisition papers. Showed his dad all the appropriate paperwork, then Stiles was being bundled into the back of a black SUV. All courtesy of the Supernatural Awareness Bill of 2003. Stiles was officially ‘Detained Until further Notice’.

 

Stiles wondered if his dad was trying to appeal it. If his dad was keeping to his diet - was he still Sheriff? Or had he become a political activist, protesting against his son's wrongful detainment? Had he decided to drown his sorrows in whiskey?

 

He wondered if Scott ever got the guts to try out for lacrosse.

 

-

 

Stiles was woken abruptly – he was pretty sure it was the middle of the night. Still groggy, they leashed him and pulled him along, out of his bunk and room.

 

“What’s going on? What’s happened?” he asked trying to wake himself up. His handler said nothing, navigating the corridors silently.

 

“You know I am sick of being thrust at this thing without any idea of what’s happening!” Stiles suddenly yelled. “Does anyone think I might be able to calm It down better if I just knew -”

 

A short sharp shock came off his cuff and Stiles snapped his mouth shut.

 

“Stiles,” a saccharin sweet voice came from behind. Stiles recognised her voice. She was the only person he had ever seen in the facility who wasn’t a doctor, a monster, or a handler. Which made her administration. Which made her in charge, and therefore memorable. Stiles turned around and saw her carrying that familiar hoodie.

 

“Ma’am,” he muttered with a nod. “What’s going on?” he asked as he followed her up the corridor. She eyed him speculatively.

 

“Come on, you said I’m resourceful – imagine how resourceful I can be with, you know, actual resources,” Stiles pleaded. “It’d be nice to know what I’m walking into. I think we both know It’s not going to hurt me. That makes me valuable, right? An asset? Come on, protect your asset, please.”

 

She smiled again. “You are clever, aren’t you,” she said stopping at the end of a corridor and giving him the hoodie. Stiles pulled it on with a complicated manoeuvre around his leash. “How long have you been here?” she asked. Stiles shrugged.

 

“What’s the date?”

 

“March the third, 2012,” she replied.

 

“About nine months,” Stiles whispered. She stared at him for a few moments, assessing.

 

“He’s hurt. Not taking medical treatment. You need to keep him calm enough for the medical staff to do their job. Understood?”

 

Stiles nodded. “Is there… blood?” he asked wincing.

 

Her whole face lit up. “Are you squeamish?” she asked with unholy glee.

 

“It’s not funny,” he mumbled. She unleashed him and held his upper arm in a vice grip, leading him up the corridor to a room marked Med Lab Blue Three.

 

“Of course not, sweetie, but in answer to your question – yes. There is blood. A lot of blood.”

 

Stiles took in a deep breath to steady him. “Okay.”

 

“On you go in,” she said turning the handle and pushing the door opened. Stiles stepped cautiously into the room. There were three people in scrubs on one side of the room while It was huddled into the corner opposite. There was an operating table and a few trolleys and monitors. It looked like a medical theatre of sorts. There was also an unconscious person lying on the floor by the rest of the staff dressed in scrubs. That was probably why Stiles was here then.

 

“Ah, we’ve been waiting for you. See if you can get him to lie down,” came a cool and collected voice from one of the doctors. Stiles breathed for a moment before making his way over to It, navigating past the trolley and examination table.

 

He crouched down in front of It. It was curled up and in on Itself – obviously hurt and defensive. Stiles sighed.

 

“Hey, big guy,” he greeted. “You hurt?” It slowly lifted Its head, eyes pinned on Stiles. “You need to let the doctors look at you.” It curled up tighter. “I’m going to be right there beside you, I promise. I’ll hold your claw and everything,” Stiles said bringing his hands up to rest on Its arms – oh god there was blood and it was sticky and oozing and squelchy. Stiles curved his fingers under Its biceps and gave a gentle pull up. It stood easily, following Stiles’ small pushes and pulls. Stiles managed to get him onto the table but It wouldn’t lie down.

 

“Too vulnerable a position, exposing the wound,” muttered one of the female staff. Stiles’ head snapped over.

 

“What did you say?” he asked.

 

“I said that lying down, it’s too vulnerable a position, exposing the wound. It goes against instinct,” she rattled off nervously. Stiles glanced up at Its face.

 

“Is that what’s wrong?” Stiles asked gently, cradling Its face in his hands. “You’re scared to lie down in case they hurt you?”

 

It looked up at Stiles, tears gathering at the corners of Its big red eyes. Stiles sighed.

 

“When I was six, I had to go get my blood taken. I was sick and they didn’t know what with, but the thing is I’m exceptionally squeamish.” It huffed and landed Its nose against Stiles’ neck. “I know, I know, oh the irony. Head bitch in charge already had a good laugh about it,” Stiles muttered. It raised Its head to look at Stiles again. “I had to get my mom to hold my hand through the hold thing. And I was screaming and kicking and hollering all through it – and it hurt something awful, and I was so, so, scared – but it was okay because my mom was with me. She called me her brave superhero,” Stiles said with a cut off laugh. “So I need you to be my brave superhero – okay? I can’t promise that it won’t hurt like a bitch but I can be here. I’ll be here. Through the screaming and the kicking, alright?”

 

It leaned forward and ran Its nose against Stiles’ cheek, Its lips just barely brushing his. Stiles leaned back minutely. “Kisses are for good behaviour,” Stiles whispered. It growled slightly but leaned back, grabbing onto Stiles’ hand as It slowly eased Itself onto the exam table. Stiles smiled.

 

“So good, you’re doing so well,” he said, kissing the hand that held his. Slowly the med team gathered round.

 

“Are we ready?” the doctor asked. Stiles gave one more glance to It and It nodded.

 

“Ready.”

 

-

 

“How are we today, Stiles?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Stiles hasn’t seen the lady with the sweets for a while. Now he’s stuck with the new guy. He hates the new guy.

 

“How’s the hand?”

 

“Oh it’s great except for the hundreds of tiny little fractures in it.”

 

The physician gave a small smile. “May I?” he asked, stretching out a hand. Stiles placed his blackened hand in his grasp. “No loss of movement or sensation?”

 

“Kinda hard to tell when you’re trying not to move it and it hurts all over.”

 

“Yes, I imagine so,” he said with a wry grin. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

 

“I’m tired, hungry, losing weight, bored out my mind, and feel like crying all day long?”

 

“So everything’s normal then?”

 

“Tell me, is it a job requirement to be a sadist or is it just a happy coincidence for you?”

 

A shock made Stiles flinch and glare at the physician.

 

“I think we’re done for now,” he said to the handler at the door. Stiles silently let himself be leashed and bundled out of the room.

 

-

 

Stiles stuck his feet underneath Its thigh as he burrowed into Its side, sighing lightly as his toes were engulfed with warmth.

 

“Then Caroline laughs so hard she swings the chair backwards and flies off her seat,” Stiles snorted as he recounted the tale. “The handler at the window took a good five minutes to compose himself too.”

 

It said nothing as It massaged Stiles’ hands carefully, warming them up. Stiles hummed in content, completely confident that Its claws wouldn’t touch him. A few moments passed before It reached up and ran a finger along Stiles’ lips. Stiles sighed exasperated.

 

“You’re going to talk me hoarse, you know. Where are your stories sunshine, what do you do all day?”

 

It suddenly tensed up, Its grip on Stiles shifting.

 

“Woah, hey, did I do something wrong?” Stiles asked as he was slightly dislodged, trying to regain his balance. He watched Its face, seeing a silent snarl coat Its face. Stiles lifted up a hand to comb through Its hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t mind talking, you know that.”

 

Its eyes rounded on Stiles and peered at him for a few moments before a hand clamped down on the back of Stiles’ neck, claw tips curling round and pressing in tight. Stiles refrained from fighting out of the grip. It pulled him in close and Stiles knew It was going to try and kiss him again so Stiles put his hand over Its mouth.

 

Never before had Stiles been so sure that he was going to lose a limb.

 

“I don’t want to do that when you’re so angry,” Stiles said quietly, keeping his eyes down as he lifted his palm away. He let his hands drop onto Its chest, waiting for Its reaction. Its grip on Stiles’ neck intensified before It tossed him across the room like a rag doll. Stiles let out a small cry of pain as he landed, jarring his healing hand. He stayed curled up on the floor trying to breathe through the pain. He didn’t get up until the handlers came in some time later to take him away. He looked back. It looked back at him.

 

Stiles didn’t know if that made him happy or sad.

 

-

 

Stiles didn’t get any biscuits that evening.

 

-

 

Stiles was anxious about the next visit with It. They hadn’t ended things on a good note, but Stiles didn’t think one bad meeting would make It hate him. At the same time Stiles wondered that if It hated him he could go home. All he seemed to be doing at the Division was sit in this thing’s lap.

 

The handler was unleashing him while Stiles took It in. It wasn’t looking at him. It was staring at a spot over his shoulder somewhere. Stiles bit the inside of his lip. He glanced over to the handler as he closed the door. Suddenly Stiles was pushed up against the wall. It had broken out.

 

“What -”

 

It pressed Its lips onto his. Stiles’ brain went into overload. His hands came up and pushed against It but It just gathered Stiles’ hands up in one broad palm and continued to kiss him, letting Its sharp teeth nip and scratch at his lips. Its fangs dangerously close to piercing right through his bottom lip. Its other hand came up and pressed on his jaw forcing his mouth open. Stiles felt sick as Its tongue found its way in. When Its mouth moved from Stiles lips to pressing kisses along his jaw Stiles let out a shuddering cry.

 

“Please, please stop. I don’t -” Stiles gave a strangled moan as It started sucking on a spot below his ear that made Stiles’ toes curl. Stiles tried to tug his hands out of Its grasp but It only tightened Its hold and lifted them up, pinning them above Stiles’ head easily. Tears leaked from the sides of Stiles’ eyes. “You gotta stop, please stop.”

 

It pushed Itself up flush along his body. Stiles tried to pull away but there was no give. He looked up at the observation mirror. No help there. It rolled Its hips up against his. Stiles closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, concentrating only on his breathing as It rutted up against his leg; biting down and licking whatever part of Stiles’ neck and jaw it felt like. Stiles could hear Its breaths getting more frenzied and frantic as it got closer to orgasm. Stiles couldn’t hold back his tears.

 

It slumped when It came, breathing heavily into his neck. Stiles waited a while before tugging at his arms tentatively. They were starting to ache from the strain of being kept up. It let go of his hands and let Stiles lower them down. It then tightened Its hold around Stiles’ waist before sliding down the wall. Stiles was pulled along with It onto the ground and into a crumpled heap as It curled around Stiles’ body, sated and lazy. Cuddling. It wanted to cuddle. Stiles couldn’t stop trembling.

 

Its hand started sliding up Stiles’ thigh. Stiles kept his mouth glued shut, but when It started moving over to his crotch Stiles snapped.

 

“Don’t. You. Dare,” he breathed out practically silent. It paused, then gave a small whine before placing Its claw back on Stiles’ leg. Stiles sat still and silent for the rest of their time together - while It gave sweet little kisses to the back of his neck, his cheek, temple, hands, shoulders, fingertips – wherever It felt like touching. Stiles just tried not to cry again.

 

When the handlers came in It turned Stiles’ head for one final kiss on his lips before backing off. Stiles needed the handlers’ help to get off the floor and out of the room. He was numb. It was only when he was back in his own little bunk that he let out the anguished screams and let sobs rack his body.

 

-

 

It was a week later before he had another appointment. As usual he was leashed and led out his room, what he wasn’t expecting was to be led down to the first floor.

 

“Hey, wait a minute. Where are we going?” Stiles asked. As usual he was given no answer. Instead he was led up to a work station, where what seemed to be a receptionist manned a desk is a small circle of rooms - like a nurse’s station almost.

 

“Zero zero twenty-four L,” the handler said in a bored voice.

 

“Room green eighteen. Third on the right,” she said not looking up from her computer. The handler nodded and went on his merry way, unleashing Stiles outside the room before opening the door.

 

“In. You’ve got an hour.”

 

Stiles frowned as he stepped forwards through the door. The door shut behind him gently, and Stiles wandered around the wee room. It looked like a waiting room of some sort. A few couches, a coffee table, big bright windows looking outside. Stiles made a beeline for the view, practically pressing his face up against the glass.

 

“Stiles?” he heard quietly behind him. Stiles’ heart stopped.

 

“Dad?” Stiles whispered to the window before twirling around. It was. His dad. Standing in the doorway. God he looked old. “Dad.”

 

Stiles and his father sprung towards each other, pulling each other into a tight embrace.

 

“I get a visit twice a year,” his dad said into Stiles’ ear, trying to hold back tears. “An amendment made for minors four months ago. God son -”

 

“It’s okay, dad, it’s okay I’m here,” Stiles said not bothering to hide his tears. “I can’t believe you’re here -”

 

“I’m going to get you out of this place, son. I will I promise.”

 

“Hey, dad?”

 

“Yeah son?”

 

“Who won the Superbowl?”

 

His dad burst out laughing, which only ended in ugly sobbing, but once that was worked out of their systems they managed to sit down on the couch.

 

“So you don’t get tv or newspapers or -”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles said sitting curled up next to his dad. “I don’t even know the date.”

 

“It’s July the eighteenth.”

 

“Huh,” Stiles said. “2012?”

 

John stared at Stiles with a look of grim determination on his face. “They can’t do this to a kid like you. How long until you’re so institutionalised that you don’t want to leave this place – mentally can’t cope without it?”

 

“Like Shawshank?” Stiles asked frowning.

 

“Yeah, like Shawshank. I told you not to watch that,” John replied with a heaved sigh. “Can you sit your GED in this place?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “You know I wouldn’t mind if I could. I’ve been going crazy bored -”

 

“You wouldn’t mind school work? You?” his dad said with a wry smile. Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved at his leg.

 

“Shut up, you have no idea just how boring this place can be.”

 

“What are they, uh, what are they doing with you?” John asked lightly. Stiles froze.

 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he whispered.

 

“Okay,” his dad placated. “Then we won’t talk about it.” He waits a few moments. “The FBI closed down Megaupload.com.”

 

“What!” Stiles screeched. “Oh my god, lead with that next time!”

 

“We also killed Osama bin Laden.”

 

“What!”

 

“Oprah Winfrey ended the Oprah Winfrey show too.”

 

“My life is a lie.”

 

“Don’t ask don’t tell has been officially ended.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“The army allows soldiers to be gay now.”

 

“And they couldn’t be before?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh. I did not know that,” Stiles said nodding. “That’s good?”

 

“Yeah, son, it’s good,” the sheriff said with a sad smile.

 

“Oh no, that’s the sad smile. What’d I do?” Stiles said twisting.

 

“You’re too young to be imprisoned like this.”

 

“Hm,” Stiles noised, fidgeting with his trouser hem. “It’s a better system than before though – right? I mean what about that old mental hospital which was just a cover for locking up supernatural people. That was in Beacon County, right?”

 

“Yeah. That was wrong too.”

 

“Too?”

 

“They shouldn’t be able to just take people with no chance of appeal. Especially not minors. Human minors. I mean seriously, kid, what are they using you for?”

 

“I’ve said I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Are they hurting you? Have they hurt you?”

 

“Dad I’m wearing an electric shock wrist band – what do you think?”

 

“I think you gave up that information far too easily. What is it you’re not telling me?” John asked quietly. Stiles grit his teeth and looked away.

 

“Stiles.”

 

“What good does it do?” Stiles asked suddenly. “What good does it do to tell you? To say out loud what I’ve been avoiding for months?” Stiles looked back at his father. “It won’t make a difference. It won’t change anything. All it would do is make you upset,” Stiles rubbed his fingers over his chin. “I don’t want to upset you.”

 

“I don’t want to upset you either, Stiles,” his father replied. “But I can see what looks like hickies and bite marks on your neck. My imagination is a lot darker than you might think. I’m a cop. I’ve seen things.”

 

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to reign in his emotions.

 

“Unless you do have someone, but those are some pretty vivid bruises you’ve got.”

 

“What about your love life, dad?” Stiles croaked out. “Seen any action?”

 

The sheriff stared blankly at his son for a few seconds before shaking his head and playing along with the topic change. He put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and chatted about meaningless things, because that’s what Stiles wanted.

 

-

 

There was never any way to know how long it would be between his visits with It.

 

The first four or five had been twice a week. Then nothing for a month. There was no pattern to it – or if there was it was on Its side of the equation that the variable was calculated. He could go weeks or days between appointments. Stiles didn’t know if that made him glad so as not to fall into a monotonous routine or frustrated that he never knew what was happening.

 

All he knew was this constant fear that something terrible was going to happen.

 

He had talked to the physician, about sitting his GED or something. Give him something positive to focus on so he didn’t feel like he was slowly fading away. Now he gets a little white pill to take at lunchtime. Stiles wasn’t really sure if it helped or not.

 

He had started a petition – two really. The first one was for the introduction of hobbies. Gardening, painting, crafts, board games, sewing – Stiles really didn’t care anymore he just couldn’t stand to look at another book. The other was for the opportunity to sit educational exams – like a GED, or a distance learning online class thing. He kept the bits of paper folded up in his waistband, under his pillow at night, clutched in his hands – campaigning to anyone he saw to sign. He had fourteen names at the moment. Three were from staff members. Stiles was pleased about that.

 

It was one day when a new girl was in the rec room and he slid next to her to explain how wonderful the Stilinski Hobby Scheme was that he realised just how much his petition had rocked the boat.

 

“Oh my god! _You’re_ the petition guy!” she squealed.

 

“Uh… yes?” Stiles answered.

 

Apparently Steven Oakley – who was name number eight on the petition for Hobbies and four on the list for education – had been transferred into the ‘amber zone’.

 

(“What zone is this then?” Stiles had asked.

 

“Well this is yellow. Low risk protection zone.”

 

“So my handlers are supposed to be protecting me?”

 

Her eyes had bored into his. “Yes. They are. They have been. I can’t smell any death in this room.”)

 

“And he was going on about the crazy petition guy,” she said. “Who wanted to start hobbies and school. And I – I just thought that was amazing. So…”

 

She reached up inside her top and pulled out a sheaf of paper.

 

“I got seventeen names for school, and I got twenty for hobbies.”

 

Stiles stared at the pieces of paper, slowly reaching out for them.

 

“How on earth…” he breathed.

 

“Amber is a lot bigger than yellow. Yellow is like a temporary holding place till they figure out how dangerous you are. So there’s what four or five in here at any one time?” Stiles nodded. “Amber has three rec rooms. That’s fifteen or sixteen. And you’re never in the same room twice. One or two Division squaddies signed too.”

 

“I can’t… I can’t even believe…” Stiles stammered.

 

“Even if this comes to nothing. Doing it, brought a little bit of hope to us,” she said seriously. “You can’t kill hope. Can’t Taser a dream. Can’t kill an idea.”

 

“I am Batman,” Stiles gravelled out. She snorted.

 

“Sure you are,” she said rolling her eyes.

 

“You can be Catwoman!” Stiles exclaimed. She rolled her eyes again but this time with a hint of a blush.

 

“So, Catwoman, tell me some more about this place. You know more than me.”

 

There are levels, and as she so succinctly put it, yellow is mellow, amber is tense, red is bloody, purple is lonely, and blue is deadly.

 

“I started off in Blue, actually,” Catwoman said flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Experimental drugs to cure my epilepsy. Very nearly turned me into a feral omega werewolf. They’ve been tweaking the doses – I’ve been bounced all over this joint.”

 

She’s not DUN, she explained, she’s a volunteer. Clinical trials. The doctor in charge of the study comes to California just for her. She’s their most successful patient. Poster girl for the whole clinical trial. Her parents visit her every weekend.

 

“Do you know the name of the bitch in charge?” Stiles asked.

 

She frowned. “There are three from what I gather. There’s Julia Bacardi- she’s in charge of specimens. Then there’s Doctor Morell. She’s incharge of wellbeing. Then there’s Kate Argent, she’s in charge of security. Julia is super pretty and pretends to be totally on your side – brunette, nice figure, and magical. She’s always in heels. Super into her looks. Doctor Morell is tall and thin like a bean pole, biracial – and she talks all cryptic like. She’s never on anyone’s side. Very professional. Kate Argent is blonde and she’s a cold hearted bitch who will stab you and leave you for dead. She’s more like a tomboy. Ready to roundhouse you in the face anytime.”

 

“Kate Argent’s the one I’ve met.”

 

“Bitch, right?”

 

“Totally.”

 

They smiled at each other and Stiles realised how close they were sitting on the couch together, turned into one another conferring, knees touching, heads bent together. Her long hair was so blonde and bright – just like her grin.

 

“Uh…” Stiles started, his tongue darting out the wet his lip. “It’s been a long time since I last talked to a girl my age. Like, properly talked, you know?”

 

She gave a grin. “Oh yeah?” she leaned forwards. “You going to take advantage of the situation?”

 

Stiles grinned wide, shocked and happy at her forwardness. He nodded his head and leaned in, kissing her delicately before sliding his hands round her waist.

 

“Wow, slow down there, tiger,” came her flat voice. Stiles jerked back.

 

“Sorry was I -”

 

Catwoman snickered. “No, Batman, I was being sarcastic. You’re going glacial paced. This is the most PG thing I’ve done in my life.”

 

Stiles ducked his head. “Sorry, I’ve never -”

 

“Really?” she drawled. “Then what’s this?” she said trailing a finger along the green faded bruises on his neck.

 

Stiles shrugged. “Non-consensual?” he said watching his fingers fret at the seam of his trouser leg. Catwoman paused.

 

“Oh, sweetie. You go as slow as you like. Ain’t nothing wrong with PG.”

 

Stiles swallowed. “It’d be nice to step it up to a 12A,” he quipped.

 

“I think I can arrange that.”

 

-

 

Stiles woke up in a cold sweat and shook until breakfast came. He slowly calmed down, reminding himself that Erica was in the rec room with him. He wasn’t alone anymore.

 

Then the temperature started to drop.

 

Stiles curled up into a ball on the floor, pressing his head against the floor, tears trickling all ways over his face. Eventually he started shivering and the jumper was thrown in. Stiles stuck his hands though the sleeves and waited for his handlers.

 

The walk to the room was the tensest one yet. Stiles had no idea what It was going to do to him this time.

 

It was sitting in Its chair – which had new shiny shackles on the bottom now, fat lot of good that’ll do – and It looked happy to see him, holding out a hand to him when the handler stepped out. Stiles stared at the hand for a moment. It whined and wiggled Its fingers. Stiles stepped forwards into Its reach and It grabbed his hand and pulled him close; a broad palm sliding up the inside of his t-shirt and resting at the base of his spine. It felt like a red hot brand on Stiles’ skin.

 

The other hand went to the back of his neck and he was pulled in close so It could press Its nose to the vein of his neck. Then It started to growl. Then reared back with a snarl, staring a Stiles’ neck. It pulled down the collar of his shirt and froze when It saw a small hickey near his collar bone. Erica’s.

 

“What?” Stiles spat. “Something sexual happen that you didn’t like?”

 

The hit felt like a baseball bat had been taken to the side of his face. He lurched sideways and down maybe. There were a few moments where he wasn’t entirely sure he was conscious. Then suddenly he was being pulled upright by his waist.

 

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Stiles gasped, black spots spinning in front of his eyes. Its fingers were slipping under his shirt and pressing against something that rustled. Stiles blinked trying to clear his head. His eyes focused on Its hand which held papers. Papers. The petitions.

 

“Give those back,” Stiles pleaded. “Please. It’s. They’re… it’s a petition. So I could get my GED, maybe. I never -” Stiles closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “I never got to finish high school. I never got to finish high school,” Stiles cried. “I’m fifteen – hell I could be sixteen by now. I wouldn’t know. Because they keep me here as a pet for you!” Stiles shouted punching at Its shoulder, tears running down his face. “And you don’t even want me!” Stiles screamed.

 

It looked shocked, eyes wide, naïve.

 

“Don’t look at me like that. I know you pretend I’m someone else every time I walk in the room,” It glanced away, but Stiles grabbed Its chin and made It look back at him. “So you do not get the right to smack me around just because I have someone I’d rather be with when you have someone else out there too.” Stiles slumped as he let go of Its face, pain and nausea rippling through him. “I’m not him,” Stiles whispered. “Whoever he is, I’m not him. I’m a replacement and you can’t…” Stiles tilted sideways. “Just give me the paper back, please.”

 

It reached out and grabbed Stiles before he slid off Its lap and carefully cradled him against Its chest. Stiles felt so tired, he flopped down against the hulk. What was it about head injuries and sleeping? It put the petitions down in Stiles’ lap and then pressed Its claw into Its arm. Stiles frowned.

 

“What…?”

 

It dipped Its claw into the wound then pressed his claw to the paper. Stiles processed.

 

“Are you… damn, are you writing your name in blood?”

 

It continued to scratch Its name out slowly. On both petitions. Stiles watched in morbid fascination. When it was finished It passed the papers over slowly. Stiles grasped the paper and read the remarkably neat writing.

 

“Derek,” he said softly. It hummed and put a hand on his. Black lines appeared and Stiles felt his pain ebb away. “You doing tha’?” Stiles slurred. It hummed again. “S’good... Der’k. Never knew your name was Derek…” Stiles nodded off on Derek’s shoulder, missing the way Its whole body tensed and Its head snapped to look at him.

 

-

 

Stiles sat paranoid and totally uneasy in his hospital gown thingie. It was paper thin, cheap, and it didn’t close properly at the back. He had been through two of these exams before. One when he arrived, then another, he wasn’t really sure when that happened. Was it quarterly? Bi-annual? He knew it was more than a year he had been here now. Wasn’t sure if it had been his birthday yet… his dad. His dad had said he might try to visit for that. So he was somewhere between July and October. 2012. Maybe.

 

God he hated this.

 

He swung his feet back and forth from on top the exam table. The room was small – almost like a dentist’s exam room, Stiles thought morbidly. Ever since he cracked his back tooth in half and had to get a filling he was wary of dentists. The room had the customary black window at the bottom of the room. Stiles often wondered how people entered the room on the other side. He had never seen a door or entrance. But then of course he wouldn’t have. What’s the point of a secret room with a well known entrance?

 

The door swung open and Stiles tensed up. A tall man with a gentle face entered in. Bald. Black. Wearing a lab coat. Holding a folder. Safe to say he was the doctor.

 

“Hello, double zero twenty-four,” he said with a cursory smile and a glance over to his cuff to match the serial number. “L. Yes, good. How are you today?”

 

“Curious as to what the date is,” Stiles replied. He had decided long ago radical honesty was the only way he was ever going to get through this place without going crazy.

 

“September twentieth,” the doctor replied with a real smile this time. “Shall we get started?”

 

After around twenty minutes of being poked and prodded by the doctor Stiles was given the stamp of approval.

 

“All ready for transport.”

 

Stiles blinked.

 

“What?”

 

“One of the handlers will be in to help you in a moment. Goodbye,” his doctor continued on as if Stiles hadn’t spoken, then promptly left the room – the door closing with the soft snick of the locking mechanism.

 

Transport. What did transport mean? Was he going somewhere? Was he… was he going home? Or somewhere worse?

 

Stiles was jolted out of his thoughts when the door opened. He looked up to a familiar face.

 

“Ma’am,” Stiles managed to croak out.

 

“So polite,” she said with a grin. “Lie back for me,” she said gesturing and coming over to the table. Two other handlers followed behind her.

 

“Where am I going?” Stiles asked as he lay down, trying desperately to sound like he wasn’t terrified.

 

“There’s a facility in Washington state. We’re moving you and your boyfriend there.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles answered back. He felt a small pin prick in his shoulder. “What was that?”

 

“Sedative. Company policy,” she replied.

 

“Why you moving us?” Stiles asked, closing his eyes against the bright lights, feeling the tension slowly drain out of him.

 

“You’re turning sixteen, and the age of consent in California is eighteen.”

 

Stiles couldn’t quite process that.

 

“What?” he slurred out.

 

“Don’t worry. My big brother runs Washington State, he’ll take good care of you.”

 

Then everything went dark.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Waking up happened in pieces.

 

He remembered the van. Like a prison transport van. Hands shackled to feet shackled to floor. Torso secured to van wall. He felt nauseous. He threw up. Then he fell back into oblivion.

 

He remembered bright lights and faces. His bare skin on metal. He remembered… did he? Or was it a dream?

 

He could feel soft sheets. It was warm. Felt safe. He settled in and fell asleep again.

 

-

 

Stiles opened his eyes. Light hurt like a knife stabbing into his retinas. He burrowed his head under the pillow. It was so soft. Was he lying on a proper bed with a proper mattress? Stiles threw his leg up then down to hit the mattress. Bouncy. Stiles slowly brought his head out from under the pillow.

 

It was a huge master bedroom. He was lying on a king sized bed. Blue satin sheets. So soft. Stiles slowly sat up. He was in blue sweatpants and a blue tank top. Different from the grey t-shirt and sweatpants he had been used to in California, but they fit better.

 

No cuff on his arm.

 

Stiles stared at his forearm for a minute, running his fingers up and down it. It felt naked, bare, light-weight. It felt foreign to him.

 

As did the cuff around his ankle. It looked like the cuff they put on house arrest people. Stiles picked at it absentmindedly. It wasn’t going to come off.

 

Stiles slowly stood, flexing his toes on the carpet, real carpet, and began to explore the room. It was big. The bed was in the corner of the room. In the opposite corner of the room was a cage. It surrounded the door. Two cages actually. Next to each other. Then above the door was a strip of tinted window about half a foot wide going from one end of the room to the other. Stiles gritted his teeth. His bedroom was now under the surveillance of anyone who poked their nose in the observation room. There was a chest of drawers, and further along, a table with chairs either side next to a slot in the wall like a letterbox. Other than that, it was bare. No pictures. Nothing. Just, cream carpet and cream walls.

 

Stiles moved over to the chest of drawers opposite the bed intent on rifling through them. He opened up the top drawer and his eye was drawn to the only other colour than blue in it. Red.

 

That damn red hoodie.

 

Stiles slammed the drawer close and stepped back hitting the bed. The big bed. The king sized bed.

 

He’d be sixteen in a month.

 

-

 

Stiles _hated_ this place.

 

There was _nothing_ to do. Absolute zero. He felt like he was going crazy. There was no rec room, no other people, no books, no handlers, nothing.

 

He’d take the rec room over satin sheets any day.

 

Erica. 

 

He’d never even gotten to say anything to her, not a goodbye or a catch you later. He’d heard her talk about being yanked out of departments without a warning, about friends she’d left behind. He remembered people who were there one day and the next day were gone – he never got an answer about them. He stopped asking.

 

Had Erica asked about him? Did his dad know where he was? What happened to his petitions?

 

He felt like a lab rat. He hated every inch of the room. The idea he was being watched at any time - all the time – had never been so pronounced in the other facility. The fact they were obviously just waiting for him to turn sixteen before they did anything made him feel like he was in some sort of purgatory or limbo. He was nowhere and nothing. A pet for a

monster. There wasn’t a clock in the room but Stiles could feel it ticking down. A countdown to his birthday. To his rape.

 

Stiles flipped restlessly around in the bed, moving over to run his nails down the wall. For something to do. Anything.

 

Tick tock.

 

-

 

He was fed better here.

 

It was the one thing – _satin sheets, real bed, starfish sleeping formation_ – okay second thing that made this place a little bit more bearable. He got real food. Food that had steam coming off of it. Food he could identify with reasonable certainty. Plus real cutlery - none of the soft edges crap he had before. I mean it wasn’t anything particularly sharp, but now he could cut his meat if he wanted

 

This place felt more like a house. Like a mansion that was repurposed rather than a ‘facility’. Maybe it was smaller. A less stressed kitchen would most likely mean better food. Perhaps it was specialised, for residents that behaved better. Could be that there were less supernatural incidents in Washington so the facility had more money to spend.

 

Then there were the thoughts Stiles tried to keep out his mind.

 

Maybe the facility was for couples -

 

Maybe it was a long term –

 

Maybe he had been sold to a private –

 

Then again, maybe California just handled their money really badly and Stiles should have always had this treatment.

 

-

 

There was a bath in the bathroom as well a shower.

 

Stiles had been a little bit terrified of it, until he had rationalised that they would probably see less in a bath than they would in a shower.

 

It was the only thing – _that bed, the food_ – the third thing that made this place vaguely alright.

 

He would still trade it for a book though. It didn’t make up for the lack of entertainment.

 

Nor did it make up for the fact that his drawer was half filled with clothes that were too big for him – they would probably fit Derek.

 

 

Stiles tried not to think about Derek.

 

-

 

You see the thing about Derek is that Derek is terrifying. Fangs, red eyes, claws, huge muscles, the whole skeletal thing going on with his face, the ears – everything he used to see on the late night horror movies. The general bad touching didn’t improve his score chart either. Or the smacking him around when he was angry. Or the man-handling. Or the whole… molesting… incident.

 

Stiles sat in the bath and sank his head down until his hair spiralled out from his head. He desperately wanted a haircut.

 

When had Derek stopped being an ‘It’ – that’s what Stiles would like to know.

 

The second Stiles knew his name. Names mean mothers, fathers, friends, families of unconventional sorts. A name means a person, not a monster.

 

People could be monsters too.

 

There were no mirrors in this place. Stiles had to settle for the walls of the shower, the stillness of the bath water, the back of a spoon – but he could feel the twinges of a fading bruise down the side of his face. His thumb still made a funny click if he rotated it counter-clockwise.

 

He tried not to think about that either.

 

His preferred method was to ignore a problem until it goes away.

 

He didn’t think Derek was going away.

 

-

 

Sometimes he didn’t think Derek was even coming.

 

He had broken the knob off the drawer and had taken to throwing it in the air and catching it. It was something to do.

 

It had the extra added element of risk if he lay down on the bed and threw it. He had already hit himself in the face. Twice.

 

So the way he’s thought of it is that he’s been a hostage. A replacement. Doled out in small doses as a reward for Derek. He wasn’t quite sure how he was a reward, but he was.

 

So maybe Derek would never come. Maybe Stiles would be promised and promised and promised, and never given. Maybe Stiles would never leave this room ever.

 

Maybe Derek would burst through the door any second, hold him down and –

 

Ouch! Damnit. The handle hit him on the chin.

 

-

 

The cage through to the door zapped him when he touched it, though its twin did not. The ankle cuff zapped him when he tried to keep the cutlery. He got zapped when he hit the handle off the windows. He got zapped if he let the bath overrun. He got zapped if he didn’t finish his food.

 

He was pretty damn tired of being zapped by unseen forces.

 

So when the door opened and a handler stepped into the cage Stiles didn’t know to be terrified or relieved.

 

“Twenty four L, please step into the second cage,” the handler instructed. Stiles stood and slowly made his way over to the cage, stepping in. The lock at the top snapped shut behind him, and the handler stepped into the room. He stripped the bed and took dirty laundry away, wiped down the surfaces – fixed the broken drawer handle. Stiles slumped against the cage wall, the current cut from it. They probably didn’t want him or their handler in an electrified cage. Stiles was suddenly distracted by a man entering the cage next to him. He stopped to stare.

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

He was tall, with stubble, blonde hair, and his white skin was tanned. He had such blue eyes. He smiled a crooked smile. A familiar grin.

 

“You’re her brother.”

 

He inclined his head and continued to stare.

 

“Can I get a book or something? A GED maybe?”

 

The handler cleaning the room finished up, stepping past the man. The man made to leave the room when Stiles pressed himself up against the cage wall between them, curling his fingers around the thin bars.

 

“Please, please, give me something,” he pleaded. The man gave a smile that set Stiles’ teeth on edge, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. His cage unlocked with a quiet snap.

 

He was zapped again when he didn’t leave the cage immediately.

 

-

 

They were giving him an extra little white pill now.

 

It didn’t stop him from crying at night.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up to someone pushing at his thigh.

 

“Nghuhg,” Stiles tried to say. The pushing stopped. And became prodding.

 

“Ow, oh my god,” Stiles spat opening his eyes and waking up properly. It was still dark in the room, thanks to the dimmer on a timer lights, so Stiles flipped onto his side to see what was happening.

 

Red eyes.

 

Stiles jolted up terrified before he rationalised the two demonic eyes crouched by his bed. It was Derek. Derek was in his room.

 

He stared at Stiles for a few moments, Stiles’ heart slowing down from the scare Derek gave him, then went back to pushing at his thigh.

 

“Oh my god, _what is your problem_ ,” Stiles hissed at Derek. Derek gave a whine then pushed at him. Stiles slapped his hands. “Stop that now. You’ve woken me up, what do you want?”

 

Derek’s head came up as he sat on the edge of the bed. Then scooted over, pushing Stiles as he tried to sit beside him and –

 

“You want my side of the bed!” Stiles screeched. “Are you kidding me? Are you five?” Stiles said pushing Derek right off the bed. “I am not sleeping against the wall so screw you.”

 

Stiles grabbed the blankets tightly and flopped down on the bed with a huff. Derek let out a low gravelly sound that Stiles was not going to admit scared him a little. Stiles heard Derek stand up and step back, staring at the bed before grabbing the bed frame and moving it faster than Stiles would have thought possible. A whole 180 degrees. He turned it round so violently that Stiles spun, smacking into the wall.

 

Now nursing a sore shoulder Stiles sat up and turned to Derek who was now lying face down on the bed. Then promptly hit him. Derek gave a half-hearted snarl and turned over onto his back, half opening his eyes at him.

 

“You can’t just waltz in here and shove me around like I’m some sort of toy because that -”

 

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him down chest to chest and trapping him in his arms. Stiles squirmed in his hold.

 

“This is _exactly_ the kind of behaviour I was -”

 

Derek’s arm curled up around Stiles face and held his mouth shut. Stiles dug his nails into Derek’s shoulder and watched in odd horror as the small welts healed without leaving a trace.

 

Derek adjusted his grip, nodding off, and Stiles once again cried himself to sleep.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up to the feeling of being gently set down and the noise of a shower running. The gradual return to awareness suited him well because it let him slowly understand what had happened last night instead of immediately freaking out. Stiles sat up on the bed as the shower stopped, listened as there were thumps and grumps from the en suite, tensed as Derek came back out in only a towel to rifle through the drawers. He paused at the drawer for a moment before bringing out the red hoodie, setting it on top of the drawers. He then searched around for trousers and a tank top, found them, and headed back into the bathroom to change. He came back through a moment later rubbing his hair with a towel before throwing it into a corner. Stiles watched him muted through the whole thing.

 

Then breakfast slid out onto the table. Derek extended a hand to him. Stiles stared at it for a while before Derek dropped it. Then he extended it again. Without claws.

 

Stiles frowned at it. Shocked by it. He’d never seen Derek without the claws and the fangs and the distorted face and –

 

 

Stiles reached out and curved his hand round Derek’s blunt fingernails, fascinated by the fingertips he never got to see. Derek’s hand grabbed him and pulled him out the bed viciously, nearly yanking the arm from the socket. Stiles nearly cried again.

 

Derek led him over to his chair at the dining table and pushed his chair in for him, settling himself across the way from him. Stiles watched morbidly as the claws came back out and the fangs shrunk in. Stiles sat close to hyperventilating as Derek ate his much larger portion of eggs.

 

“This is not okay,” Stiles whispered, on the verge of breaking out into tears. Derek paused in his eating and glanced at Stiles’ plate. Stiles let out a surprised sob and curled his legs up under him so he could rest his head on his knees. “Not the food, dumbass.”

 

Derek let out a little whine and ducked his head down a little to be eyelevel with Stiles.

 

“Let’s work backwards from now,” Stiles said softly. “Pushing my chair in. Pulling me off the bed. Grabbing my hand. Did you lift me earlier? Hand gagging me. Restraining me with your arms. Moving the bed when I’m in it. Waking me up. Pushing me over on the bed. And all that was _here_. Would you like me to continue on?” Stiles asked. “Last time you saw me you bruised half my face and gave me a concussion. Then -”

 

Derek snarled lightly, head bowed down towards the table, claws sinking into the wood.

 

“It’s not okay. I am not a toy. Not a pet. I’m a person. I am allowed to make decisions and I should be able to rely on you to respect them,” Stiles said evenly. “Especially when we are surrounded by people who take away our rights on whims of fancy.”

 

Derek extracted his claws from the table one by one. Stiles watched on edge.

 

“You have to ask before you touch me, and I’m allowed to say no. If you do something and I say stop, you should stop until we can reach a compromise.”

 

Derek stood up slowly. Stiles felt a horrid sense of dread flood his system. He moved slowly, carefully, like he had calculated each move, like he was stalking prey. Stiles knew deep down Derek was going to get what he wanted. There was no such thing as compromise to someone this… powerful.

 

Derek kneeled in front of Stiles. Stiles gulped reflexively. Then Derek slapped him. It took all of Stiles’ self-control not to cry out. Derek stood up and went back round to his breakfast.

 

Well. That answered that.

 

-

 

Derek got taken away some time after breakfast. Stiles wouldn’t know. He was still in a shell-shocked world. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when Derek came back. He bounded in like a puppy. He was happy. Stiles felt oddly detached from it; angry about it. Derek bounced onto the bed next to Stiles, lying his head next to Stiles’ knees and peering up at him, curious. Stiles sat silent. He whined pushing his nose into Stiles’ leg. Stiles grimaced.

 

“Do you have to do that?” he muttered. Derek whined again pulling back and lying down. He took Stiles’ hand and laid it on his stomach, then snatched his hands away. Stiles stared at him for a moment. The tank top was covered in sweat; Derek was covered actually and breathing harder than normal.

 

“Why don’t you go for a shower?” Stiles said with-drawing his hand. Derek gnashed his teeth together, frowning up at the ceiling before huffing and rolling off the bed. The door shook slightly when Derek slammed it shut. The bang nearly gave Stiles a heart attack. Damnit. Derek had been happy and within the space of two sentences Stiles riled him up.

 

Stiles gave out a frustrated groan and flopped back on the bed. He didn’t want his existence to be whittled down to the task of keeping a beast amused.

 

But perhaps he’d have to.

 

-

 

Derek ignored Stiles on the bed until dinner was served. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, he was busy ignoring Derek. Dinner slid out onto the table, making Stiles sit up as Derek wandered over. Derek then paused and pulled out Stiles’ chair. He was looking down at his feet, it was almost bashful.

 

“Why yes, I’d love to join you for dinner,” Stiles sighed, taking the olive branch, Derek bounced a little on his toes. Stiles made his way over to the chair, letting Derek seat him. “What are we having tonight?” Stiles asked as Derek sat across from him. “Mash potatoes and sausages. Woo.” Stiles glanced over at Derek’s plate and blinked. “Wait, have you got something different?”

 

Derek smirked and leaned back to let Stiles peer at his food. “Oh my god you’ve got sausages and burgers and bread and potatoes and cheese?” Stiles slumped back. “That’s so unfair. I’m a growing boy too,” he grumped. Then he eyed up Derek’s food. Derek put his arms up around his plate, making a little fort. Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to steal your food, man,” Stiles stated. “But if you have some left over…”

 

Derek stuck his tongue out. Stiles’ jaw dropped.

 

“Well fine then, don’t share,” Stiles pretended to grump into his food, but his façade broke when he saw the little grin Derek was giving into his own food.

 

-

 

Derek fixed the bed until neither side was against the wall and it pointed into the middle of the room. Stiles asked him to move it a little to the left. Derek rolled his eyes, but acquiesced.

 

-

 

They took Derek away after breakfast. It irritated Stiles that it irritated him.

 

-

 

Stiles treated himself to a soak in the tub before lunch. He wondered how the anklet was kept from short circuiting. Was it a self contained unit coated in magic? How was it charged? Did it work on wifi? Was there a gps tracker in it? All important to know.

 

-

 

Lunch was nice.

 

-

 

Stiles was sitting cross legged on the bed when Derek flounced in. Stiles was seriously beginning to suspect happy pills were being given out and he hadn't been invited to the party.

 

Derek collapsed onto his knees on the floor in front of Stiles and placed a package down on the bed between them. Stiles stared at it.

 

“For me?” he doubled checked, inspecting it. Derek gave it a little push toward him and that was all the encouragement Stiles needed. He pounced on the package. “Ooo, I love presents,” he said giving it a prod. “I hope it's a puppy...” Derek pressed his face into the mattress, leaving only his eyes keeking out. Stiles bit his lip and slowly unwrapped the blue paper, trying to savour the first present he had received in over a year.

 

At this point it could be a toothbrush and he'd still cry.

 

As it turned out it was a book. Hardcover. Ornate. Beautiful. A play.

 

A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

 

Stiles looked up at the expectant beast. It was brimming with energy and happiness. Like he'd done good. Stiles supposed he had.

 

“It's… our story,” Stiles said softly with a smile. Derek waited, wide eyed. Stiles snorted. “I love it, Derek, stop worrying.”

 

Derek gave a kind of ‘ruff’ noise, which Stiles wasn't certain he didn't imagine, then surged up onto the bed and opened his arms out wide. Stiles tilted his head.

 

“What are-”

 

Before Stiles had finished his sentence Derek barrelled into him and had manoeuvred him into an optimal snuggling position.

 

“You're like a ridiculous teddy octopus,” Stiles said exasperated, trying to find some wriggle room. Derek's chest rumbled. “You're lucky you aren't sweaty today, I'll tell you that.” Derek gave a soft ‘woof’ through his nose and pressed his nose into Stiles’ bare shoulder. “Puppies have cold noses. It means they’re healthy,” Derek’s breathing seemed to be evening out. “You don’t have a cold nose though,” Stiles continued on a little quieter.

 

Derek didn’t react and Stiles settled down into Derek’s embrace. He could nap too.

 

-

 

He woke up still encased in Derek’s arms. He sighed, wriggling slightly. Derek hummed into his neck, loosening his grip enough for Stiles to shimmy around and face Derek properly. Stiles caught a glance at Derek’s eyes and froze.

 

“Your eyes…”

 

The red, slightly terrifying, irises were gone and replaced with normal human looking… hazel eyes. Yeah, hazel. Hazelly greeny pretty bluey. Stiles reached his hand out to Derek’s face.

 

“Can I…?”

 

Derek pressed his cheek toward Stiles’ hand and Stiles ran his fingertips over Derek’s temple, peering into his eyes.

 

“They’re keeping you like this on purpose,” Stiles suddenly realised. “You sleep some of it off, and bits of you… come back? Metabolism. You metabolise it.”

 

Derek gave an odd shrug, nuzzling into Stiles’ hand. Stiles let him as he pondered over the new information. “Why? What possible use are you when you’re trapped as a beast?”

 

Derek stopped suddenly, eyes bleeding back to red, his whole body going tense. Stiles frowned. “What’s wrong?”

 

Derek rolled over Stiles, pressing him down and slipping a knee in between Stiles’ thighs.

 

“Der? Derek, stop -”

 

Derek’s hand grabbed Stiles’ jaw so tight Stiles swore he heard the bone creak. He couldn’t speak, breathless at the pain and the total inversion of the mood. Confusion whirred around his head - how had they gone from petting to this? His jaw was immovable, and Derek’s grip was strong enough to keep Stiles’ whole head in place. Derek slipped his other leg inbetween Stiles’ thighs, spreading Stiles’ legs out. Stiles shrunk in on himself, trying to yank his head out of Derek’s bruising hold.

 

Derek let go of Stiles’ jaw and knelt back on his haunches. Stiles’ head went flying backwards against the pillows. For a moment, Stiles just panted, staring up at Derek’s face. Strange how you can get used to such an alien looking face. Stiles slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows. Derek’s lip pulled back into a snarl. Stiles halted, eyeing Derek carefully, and then pushed himself upright. Derek shoved his chest, Stiles dropped back onto the mattress with a grunt. Derek pressed a claw into Stiles’ cheek. Stiles closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing and willing himself not to cry as panic set in. Derek never used his claws unless he was willing to _use_ them.

 

Stiles felt the pinprick travel from the plump of his cheek, over his jawline and down under his chin. Stiles didn’t even breathe as Derek drew it across his neck, then down until it hit his vest’s neckline. Derek grabbed the top and started to rip it. Stiles couldn’t help but reach out to stop him, hand curling around Derek’s elbow.

 

“Please, don’t -”

 

Derek backhanded him across the face. Stiles felt the sting of it first before it became a throbbing, aching, pain. He felt like he couldn’t move his face at all, could taste blood at the corner of his lips. Stiles let his hand drop back down to his side and went still. Derek was also still, hands curled into Stiles’ shirt’s material. He was staring at the fists he had made. It took a moment for Stiles to realise that Derek was shaking.

 

Stiles took in a laboured breath and wrapped his fingers gently around Derek’s wrists.

 

“Come on, come down here,” Stiles requested with a slur around his fat lip, moving one hand down to Derek’s waist, which was a bit of a stretch. “Lie down next to me again.”

 

Derek let himself tumble down next to Stiles like all his strings had been severed. Derek curled up next to Stiles and whimpered. Stiles gritted his teeth and pulled Derek’s head toward his chest.

 

“Shh, shh,” Stiles cooed, running his fingers through Derek’s thick hair and resorting to the only method he knew that would calm Derek down. Talk. “Over hill, over pale, thorough bush, thorough briar…”

 


	4. Chapter 4

They settled into a fairly boring routine. Derek was taken away after breakfast and returned some time before dinner. Sometimes he had presents with him. Small things. Toys and trinkets. Each one precious. Stiles started lining them up along the wall. He didn’t put anything on top of the drawers. The red hoodie sat there like an elephant. Derek ran his fingers over it occasionally. Like it was a promise. Stiles didn’t know whether to hate it or be relieved by it.

 

Derek had also figured out appropriate levels of physical affection that wouldn’t cause Stiles’ stomach to knot up in anxiety. Derek would sneak in a little kiss to the back of his neck, a nip of teeth to Stiles’ ear, curl his arms around him so tight there were no spaces between them, slip a hand under his shirt. It – him, he, Derek, _stop being so damn speciest_ \- seemed content with that. Derek seemed almost happy if Stiles were being honest. He was relaxed. As if things were normal and he was playing houses or happy families or something.

 

Stiles certainly felt like he was playing pretend. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something terrible to happen. For Derek to decide he wanted more.

 

-

 

They took Derek away again.

 

-

 

He’s still not back. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Where the hell was Derek?

 

-

 

Maybe Derek misbehaved and Division is punishing him.

 

-

 

When did it get so hard to sleep alone?


	6. Chapter 6

 

They could zap him as much as they like he’s just not hungry.

 

-

 

Another sleepless night.

 

-

 

Maybe it’s something to do with the moon.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Oh god, he was starting to see the parallels between his life and the stupid play.

 

-

 

They're on a boat in the middle on the ocean. All of them. And there's a heavy fog and mist so they can't see but it's still sunny. They have a party and everyone laughs even when it starts getting cold and Stiles wants to leave, needs to go somewhere but can't figure out where. He points but the direction he picks is always behind him.

 

He can never remember his dreams when he wakes.

 

-

 

Maybe there’s a fault in the drugs and they have to perfect the serum.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Maybe… zombies.

 

\- 

 

But like, trapping someone as a beast, forcing love, powers above acting on whims of fancy uncaring and unheeding of the damage they cause… Sound familiar?

 

-

 

Maybe… Division policy change.

 

-

 

Something’s wrong. They wouldn’t keep them apart like this.

 

-

 

Maybe Derek’s dead.

 

-

 

Maybe Derek… left.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

His dad is driving the car. It's the purple car. With the wheels made of chocolate, but the chocolate's melting and the next candy service station isn't until the next turn off. Stiles looks up in the rearview mirror. There's something there he can't make out. There's something behind him.

 

The wheels melt. The whole day is a disaster. Stiles wakes up with a craving for chocolate that is not satisfied.

 

-

 

Maybe Derek escaped and they’re trying to hunt him down.

 

-

 

Maybe Derek’s lying dead in a ditch in France.


	10. Chapter 10

 

Would he be one of the girls in this parallel or the fairy queen?

 

-

 

Blue was such a calming colour.

 

-

 

Underneath the bed was a nice place to be. It was quiet and contained. Intimate, Stiles would say. Dark, but not too dark. Plus it was away from the prying eyes of the windows. Maybe they were testing the strength or his and Derek’s relationship. Stiles wondered what his reactions were telling them.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Stiles was pretty sure he fell asleep, because he woke up to the sound of a door being closed. Stiles scrambled out from under the bed and jumped up.

 

Derek.

 

Stiles’ heart was in his throat.

 

He looked older. Grimmer. Angry. Like he was before –

 

Before he came here.

 

Stiles took a step forward. Derek’s eyes snapped up, tracking each movement Stiles made toward him.

 

“Derek?” Stiles greeted unsure, reaching an arm out to place on his shoulder. A shoulder which Stiles now looked down on. He had grown, sprouted, same height as Derek. Surreal. How much time had passed?

 

Derek seemed to think he had grown too. His eyes were flickering up and down Stiles’ body. Derek reached out and grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck pulling him into a violent kiss. Stiles’ mind went blank as he was slammed into the wall, Derek’s claws breaking skin along his shoulders.

 

“Derek, you’re hu -”

 

Stiles shut his eyes tight as he saw the fist fly toward him. He was jolted forward and then heard a splintering noise. When he opened his eyes, Derek’s left arm was cradling him safe against his chest, and his right fist had gone through the wall where Stiles’ head had been just moments before. Stiles tried to hold back the tears, deepen his short breaths. Derek’s shaking and heart rate were more pronounced now that Stiles was pressed against him. Quick, choppy, fast, erratic.

 

“Derek,” Stiles whispered gently, running his hands along Derek’s back. “What do I do?”

 

Derek let out a grotesque snarl and pulled away sharply. He grabbed Stiles wrist and yanked him across the room, throwing him into the bathroom and shutting the door. Stiles could hear things being slammed against the door. A barricade.

 

“Okay,” Stiles said softly. “Okay, I’ll stay here,” he knew Derek could hear him.

 

Stiles curled up in the bathtub, putting a towel under his head so he wouldn’t bang it off the porcelain. Twice was quite enough, thank you. He tried to ignore the snarls and howling and banging he heard from the bedroom. It sounded as if Derek was tearing the place apart piece by piece.

 

Stiles closed his eyes and counted seconds between each terrifying sound. Crack, one, roar, one, snarl, one two, thump, one, rip, one, smash, one…

 

Stiles didn’t open his eyes until he eventually managed to count to ten. Ten seconds of complete calm and silence. Slowly he let his tense, coiled up, body relax. He listened to the rustling noises he identified as furniture being pushed. The door creaked open. Stiles heard Derek slowly pad across the floor, his talons clicking against the floor. Derek climbed into the tub next to him. It wasn’t too tight a fit. Stiles had the sneaky suspicion it was designed for two.

 

Derek slid around until they were facing each other. He still looked a little bit crazed, but his breathing had panned out. Derek ran curled up knuckles down Stiles’ cheek before dipping his head and taking a kiss, slowly, then breaking it off lightly.

 

“For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?” Stiles said gently. Derek frowned. Stiles blushed furiously.

 

“Uh. It’s uh. From the play. I missed you, and - it’s uh, sorry, it’s pretty lame and -” Stiles was cut off from his embarrassed teenaged ramblings when Derek kissed him again, pulling him in close, licking into his mouth with an intensity and control Stiles’ had never seen from him before. A hand slid down his back and squeezed his ass. Stiles yelped a little. Derek drew back a fraction, raising an eyebrow, then very slowly and purposefully did it again. Stiles nodded his head and Derek went back to ravishing him, kissing down his jaw and sucking that spot below his ear that made Stiles grab Derek’s shoulders tight. Derek grumbled, pleased.

 

“You’re such a smug asshole, you know that?” Stiles muttered. Derek responded by rolling his hips against Stiles’. Stiles whined, panting into the crook of Derek’s shoulder. “Do that again. Keep going, please.”

 

Derek rolled over and pushed Stiles into the floor of the bath, pressing him into the cold porcelain. Stiles shivered as Derek tore his tank top apart, kissing down Stiles’ chest, teasing him. Stiles bucked up to meet Derek’s hips. Derek pulled down his trousers and underwear, shucking his own at the same time. Stiles felt hands everywhere, heating him up, making his blood pump. He’d never been hard like this before.

 

It quickly descended into rutting and gasping and just finding friction until it was just a sticky mess. Derek and Stiles panting, curling up in the bath naked. Stiles laughed pitifully into Derek’s shoulder.

 

“Oh my god, we’re in the bath.”

 

Derek snorted and stroked his hair

 

-

 

He was sore and achy (and a tiny bit embarrassed) when they woke up later. Derek hustled them into the shower together, washing them down, and waking up cramped muscles in the hot water. He then wrapped Stiles up in a towel and begrudgingly led the way back into the main room.

 

It was a bomb site.

 

Mattress torn up in pieces, table shattered, chairs decimated, drawers destroyed, walls clawed, windows cracked. Stiles’ trinkets were all in varying states of brokenness around the room.

 

The frame of the chest of the drawers was perfectly intact though. The red hoodie sitting completely untouched. Stiles clenched his jaw slightly. The destruction of the room was getting to him emotionally. A room he had spent – god knows how long in by now. Two months? Three? Four?

 

“Why?”

 

Stiles was as startled as Derek by his voice. Derek turned to look at him, his fists balled up slightly and he shook his head, looking away.

 

“We can’t just… leave it like this. Leave it hanging. So, why? Why are you so… angry? What are they doing to you that results in this? Why are you even here? Why me?”

 

He didn’t really mean to ask the last question, it just slipped out, but Derek’s eyes flickered up to the jumper then back down again in a subconscious gesture and Stiles felt a small bubble of fury rising in his stomach.

 

“Do I look like him?” Stiles asked softly. “It is a him, yeah? A man. Or is it a boy?” Stiles caught Derek’s jaw twitch. “So it is a boy. Is he as young as me? Younger? Is it an age thing? So long as they haven’t finished high school -”

 

Derek’s roar thundered in Stiles’ ears and stole his breath away. The silence after was deafening. Stiles shook his head, tears gently pouring out.

 

“You -” Stiles tried to say through his tears. “You’re my _whole world._ ”

 

Derek took a step forwards and Stiles took one back, shaking his head as he grappled for a handle on what he was feeling.

 

“You’re gone, what? Weeks? And I full on pined for you. I couldn’t eat or sleep or anything. I didn’t function I was just… waiting!” Stiles yelled, arms going wild. “You come back here, try to pulverise my head, break all of my things, and we have the most sex I’ve ever had in my whole life in a bathroom!” Stiles dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “And you don’t even want me.”

 

There was a growl of some sort and Stiles felt Derek’s grip close around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his eyes. Then Derek kissed him. Stiles tried to shake him off but Derek simply pushed him into the wall where there was no retreat.

 

“Derek, stop -”

 

Derek kissed viciously, relentlessly, with his whole body pressing into his, and Stiles for the life of him couldn’t stop crying. He tried to think of something that would make Derek stop.

 

“Derek, I’m cold.”

 

That made Derek stop. He rubbed his thumbs along Stiles skin and frowned, leaning his forehead against Stiles’.

 

“You think you could find us some clothes?”

 

Derek nodded.

 

-

 

They settled uneasily. Stiles picked through the room until he found the play then sat shoulder to shoulder with Derek. Not wanting to be close but hating to be far.

 

Parts of it were ripped, pages were folded oddly from a bad landing, but it was okay. Quality on amazon: poor. Stiles knew most of the words by heart now anyway.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up disorientated. Light stabbing at his eyes in a familiar way. He couldn’t place it. He pulled the blanket over his head, even more confused. This blanket wasn’t there when he fell asleep, was it?

 

Stiles sat up, Derek snoring beside him. The room. Was perfect.

 

Stiles swung out the bed and slowly got to his feet. He felt like he was in an episode of the twilight zone. The room was the exact same as it had been before. The cages in front of the door. A dining table next to a food slot. Drawers. Bed. Same blue scheme. The only things missing were Stiles’ trinkets. It unsettled Stiles deeply that a whole event could just be erased. Like it never happened.

 

“Derek?” Stiles said turning back to the bed. “Derek.”

 

Stiles climbed back onto the bed and knelt by the still asleep Derek.

 

“Dereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek,” Stiles said once more. Derek snuffled, reaching an arm out and grabbing Stiles. Stiles squeaked as he was flung down onto the space beside Derek, his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. Derek wrapped his arms tight around Stiles. “Derek, let go,” Stiles griped, trying to get out of his hold. Derek tightened his arms further, crushing Stiles’ bent over wrist between them. Stiles gasped in pain. “Derek. Derek!” Stiles glared furiously at him then bit him on the shoulder. Hard.

 

Derek’s eyes snapped open and his nostrils flared. He spun them over so he was on top of Stiles, one hand clamping down hard over his mouth, the other pinning his elbow down. Stiles flailed and hit him with the movable but sprained hand. Sleep slowly faded from Derek’s eyes and his grip stopped being so severe, but he didn’t let up. Derek nestled inbetween Stiles’ legs and slid his knees down and under Stiles’ thighs, lifting his ass off the bed. Stiles reached up and grabbed Derek’s wrist, digging nails into his skin.

 

Derek leaned over him, pressing his nose into Stiles’ hair as his lips kissed behind his ear, moving his mouth down the kiss Stiles’ neck. Tears started to well up in Stiles’ eyes. Those fangs next to his jugular hadn’t seemed quite as important yesterday. Was that even yesterday?

 

Derek’s hands moved to slide up the inside of Stiles’ tank top. Stiles gasped in a breath of air.

 

“Derek, stop,” Stiles pleaded. Derek snorted and brushed his thumb against Stiles’ nipple. Stiles bit his lip. “Derek, stop. Now.”

 

Derek leaned back, his hands sliding back along Stiles’ torso and resting on Stiles’ ass, still propped up in Derek’s lap. Stiles tried to pull away, but Derek’s grip tightened.

 

“Derek, let go,” Stiles cried. “Please, you’re not yourself and -”

 

The slap stung and Stiles automatically tried to curl up, which made Derek snarl and push his shoulders flat onto the bed. Derek then laid his head on Stiles’ chest and passed out wrapped around Stiles’ middle in a strange and uncomfortable position. Stiles cried and just tried not to wake him.

 

-

 

Food trays slid onto the dining table and Derek’s eyes sprang open. He leaned up and nuzzled Stiles’ hurt cheek, then pulled him out the bed over to the table where he settled Stiles into his lap. Stiles felt numb. He didn’t eat any of the food, even when Derek offered it up on a fork to him. Derek whined a little but didn’t try to force feed him, thank god.

 

Nobody came to take Derek away today. He clung to Stiles all day. Pulling him and pushing him, pinning him and kissing him, slipping his hands under Stiles’ clothes – never letting go of him for an instance. The only way to stop him from going further was to distract him. Derek was easily distracted by stories - real ones more than fictional ones. He was fascinated by them. Stories about his dad and the force, Scott, Harley, Heather, Jackson, Lydia… Anyone he could think of. Derek had seemed to be entertained though, sitting up against the wall, Stiles brought in tight against Derek’s chest, knees up high as he cradled Stiles in the gap between his legs, pressing his nose into his hair and sweeping a thumb along his calf. Interrupted by lunch and dinner only momentarily. Now the lights were off and Derek’s hands were pawing at him and all Stiles could really do was bite the inside of his cheek.

 

It felt like that first time back in California when he’d been pushed into the wall and used like a toy. Except now he was in Washington (wasn’t he?) and he was being pushed into the mattress. A hand heavy on the nape of his neck and the other curled around his thigh as Derek rutted against him like an animal before collapsing on top of him and slipping off into sleep. Stiles lay with his eyes open the whole night.

 

-

 

Derek was high on life when he woke up the next morning. He bounded out of bed to the shower, pressed butterfly kisses on Stiles’ face, and ate breakfast with a huge grin on his face. A handler appeared at the door and Derek nipped his ear before retreating from the room, leaving Stiles alone to slump to the floor and cry.

 

His wrist was definitely sprained or something.

 

“My wrist is… sprained or broken or something. Can someone come and look at it? Please?” Stiles asked into the air, pressing his forehead against the table leg. “Give me a painkiller or an ice-pack or whatever?”

 

There was no reply. Stiles hit his head off the table leg lightly. Then there was a snick at the door. Stiles’ head shot up.

 

“Twenty four l, step into the first cage.”

 

Stiles froze for a moment before leaping forwards, opening the cage door clumsily and closing it behind him, hearing it lock.

 

“Step out of the cage through the door.”

 

Stiles pushed against the other side of the cage, through the doorway, out of the room. A sudden sense of unease came over him. Leave the room? He nearly didn’t step out. Nearly.

 

What he did step out into was a cell. Stiles blinked, disorientated. He had walked through the cage into a cell? No. A corridor with cell walls. A corridor in a room. An observation room. White bright office. From his little cell corridor he saw four desks, all pointing towards the back of the room where a wall of monitors were lined up. Monitors showing the room, his room. Every inch of it. Stiles grit his teeth. He already knew they were watching, it was nothing new.

 

So then why did he feel so angry?

 

A man coughed. Stiles’ head snapped to him. It was that man. Kate Argent’s brother. He was standing a few feet away on the other side of the bars.

 

“Welcome to my office.”

 

Stiles stared.

 

“Why don’t you show me that arm?” he asked. Stiles glanced down at his wrist. “You asked for help, didn’t you?”

 

Stiles slowly approached, wary of a sudden shock, but none came. He tentatively held his arm out through the bars. The man took it. He was wearing those gloves, the plastic type ones. He flexed and pointed Stiles’ hand and fingers before nodding. “It’s a sprain,” he said lightly. “It’s quite impressive that this is the only real injury you’ve sustained during your time here, considering.”

 

“Considering what?” Stiles asked, not pulling back his arm. It was nice to be held by fingers instead of claws. The blonde man’s eyes flitted over his face, trying to discern if he were joking.

 

“Considering that others have been ripped apart by him.”

 

“He loves me,” Stiles whispered. “At least, he thinks he does.”

 

“And you?” Stiles blinked at the question. He repeated the question. “Do you love him?”

 

“I… Might. Sometimes. Some days,” Stiles replied, cut raw from the honesty of his answer, but what was the point in lying now. The man let go of his arm, reaching for a nearby trolley and retrieving a bandage. He wrapped as they talked.

 

“We could help with that.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Help?”

 

He shrugged. “They call it love in idleness.”

 

Stiles’ mind caught the reference quickly. “Drugs.”

 

“Twelve-x has been pretty resistant to the idea of us drugging you. He prefers you free from influence.”

 

12x. Derek’s number. X meant special, Erica said, X is unique. Derek’s special, but why? Werewolves were a dime a dozen. Stiles was suddenly grateful to him. “Probably because he knows first-hand what it’s like to be drugged,” Stiles replied. “What exactly do you have him on again?”

 

“It changes depending on need. That wouldn’t be what we’d do to you. We’d just make you… happy,” he said strapping on a brace and letting go of Stiles’ arm. Stiles pulled it back in and examined the brace. He shook his head.

 

“You know what would make me happy?” Stiles sneered. “Being treated like an actual human being instead of some wacko were’s pet,” he spat.

 

The man sighed. “You’re in a difficult position; we’re all very impressed by the progress you’ve made.”

 

“Impressed by my progress,” Stiles repeated dully. “What am I progressing to?”

 

“We’d like you to have penetrative sex before the end of this quarter.”

 

Stiles felt like he couldn’t breathe.

 

“We could introduce an incentive, if you’d like. Something to help you prioritise.”

 

Stiles felt a flash of fury and screamed as his hand snapped out and punched the cell bars.

 

“There is no fucking incentive you could _introduce_ to me that would make me complicit in my own rape, you _asshole_ ,” Stiles yelled. The man waited a few moments before nodding and then a pain beginning from his ankle engulfed his whole body. He gasped and collapsed to the ground. The pain stopped abruptly.

 

“Violent outbreaks are frowned upon,” he said calmly. Stiles let out a cackle.

 

“Sorry, my bad. Thought you wouldn’t mind with all the abuse, rape, and abduction of minors going on,” he wheezed into the floor.

 

“Stand.”

 

Stiles took a few deep breaths before pushing himself up, first to his knees, then using the bars to get fully upright.

 

“This pamphlet is for you,” he said handing over a small leaflet, Stiles snatched it from him, the glossy paper shining in the fluorescent light. “Enter the cage.”

 

Stiles glared at the man before turning back down the corridor. He looked over the ‘office’ one last time, knowing he was about to step back onto the screens. What kind of people were just sitting here watching?

 

He stepped into the cage, letting the door behind him slam closed, trapping him back in his little room, his little world.

 

-

 

Derek came back sombre. Stiles tried not to look up when he entered the room, staying sat up on the bed reading the play where he was. Derek approached him and knelt down on the floor. Stiles froze but Derek didn’t move, he just stayed kneeling on the floor, head down. Stiles tried to ignore him, but Stiles was never really good at ignoring things.

 

“You’re upset,” he said putting the book aside. Derek nodded. “Why?” Derek reached up and took Stiles’ sprained hand and squeezed. Stiles hissed snatching his hand back. Derek retreated a little. “You’re upset about hurting me?” Stiles asked. Derek grunted. “You’re sorry?” Derek whined and looked up at Stiles, he had big, sad, red, eyes. Stiles nodded. “I don’t think I can forgive you,” Derek made a small whine. “Not when one minute you mean it and the next you…” Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not when you don’t mean it all the time. You can apologise when you mean it for longer than just a day, alright?” Stiles finished, standing up and going through to the bathroom. The closed door did nothing to keep out Derek’s heart-breaking howl.

 

-

 

Derek retreated into the scowling, glaring beast that Stiles remembered from California. He didn’t look at Stiles most of the time. The happy puppy phase was well and truly over. It both infuriated Stiles, and made him oddly satisfied. Stiles began to wonder if the temperature in the room was going to drastically drop anytime soon.

 

Derek still reached out to him at night time though – a strong hand curling round his waist while Derek pressed in, not actually moving Stiles but moving to Stiles. It made Stiles feel just a little bit better.

 

The Argent man brought him out every day unwrapping and rewrapping his wrist. The only other human contact he'd had since he’d arrived. Stiles tried to bait him into conversations, he would raise an eyebrow at him and Stiles would shrug with a wry grin. They both knew what he was doing.

 

-

 

Stiles had looked at the pamphlet too. How to have safe penetrative sex with your partner. He had taken great joy ripping it up into little pieces and flushing it down the pan. He snarled the next day when a bottle of lube started appearing in the bathroom cabinet.

 

-

 

Derek entered in looking bashful, holding something loose between his fingers. A book. With a bow. Present! Stiles sprang off the bed.

 

“What’s that?” Stiles asked eagerly but still stopping short. Their usual interplay had been lacking and Stiles was glad of something new to talk about. Now that his arm was healed up he was slowly growing crazy with nothing but walls and long unfathomable glares from Derek to keep him amused.

 

Derek held out the parcel however the strange look on his face made Stiles cautious to approach. He reached out a hand for the gift only for it to be snatched away. Stiles glanced up at Derek, his face scrunched up in an unrecognisable way. Derek dropped the book on the bed and reached out for Stiles, hands round shoulders, then stepped forward. Stiles automatically went back, but Derek’s hands slid down and clamped onto his hips. Stiles stilled. So did Derek.

 

“Well?” Stiles asked shakily. Derek glanced down at the book. “The book,” Stiles stated, then Derek’s eyes flitted to Stiles’ mouth and leaned forward very slightly, breath gusting against his lips. “For a kiss?” Stiles asked thickly. Derek gave a deep quiet growl. Stiles' heart flip flopped. He really wanted that book.

 

“Just a kiss,” he whispered closing his eyes. Stiles could feel Derek nod even though it wasn’t a question. “Alright -”

 

Stiles didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence. Derek rushed against his lips, pressing in intently, desperate to be close. He pushed hard enough to topple Stiles back into the chest of drawers, hands reaching round his waist. It would feel good to kiss Derek, Stiles thought, if it weren’t for the mind numbing terror he felt whenever Derek touched him.

 

Stiles pushed lightly at Derek’s shoulders. Derek pulled away from him minutely, hands growing just a fraction tighter. Stiles gave a tight smile and ran his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Thank you,” Stiles murmured before clearing his throat. “Don’t you have a present for me?”

 

Derek seemed reluctant to let go of Stiles so Stiles took his hand and nodded him off towards the bed. Derek tangled their fingers up together as they reached the bed and sat down, his other hand going for the book and passing it to Stiles. Stiles took it gently.

 

“Did you wrap it yourself?” he asked with a small smile, pulling the blue ribbon free easily. Derek snorted. “What is it?” Stiles said finally flipping it open to the title page. “Shakespeare’s Sonnets,” Stiles read aloud. Stiles grinned. “You’re going to turn me into a regular bard, aren’t you?” Stiles said to Derek. Derek pressed his nose to Stiles’ shoulder. “I love it. Thank you,” Stiles said gently, squeezing their fingers together. “Shall I read you one?” Derek grunted affirmative and Stiles pulled them up the bed to settle against the wall. He flipped the book open to any point and let Derek get comfy against his shoulder. “Oh hey, I know this one!” Stiles exclaimed. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day…”

 

-

 

Reading to Derek was easy; reading the sonnets in general however was hard. Stiles spent more time trying to figure out what they meant and discussing that with Derek than he did actually reciting to him.

 

He was lying out on the bed, flipping through the book when the door snicked open. He gave a gentle grin as Derek bounced around in the doorway cage. When it opened Derek made a beeline for him and landed on the bed next to him.

 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Stiles teased lightly. Derek smiled wide and toothy as he settled onto his back, looking up at Stiles. He reached up and curved his hand round the back of Stiles’ neck then pulled him in for a kiss.

 

“A very good mood then,” Stiles said leaning back. “I’ve found a new sonnet I think you’ll like,” Stiles continued flipping through his book. “Do you want to hear -”

 

Derek let out a growl and smacked the book out of Stiles’ hands and onto the floor. Stiles squawked and rolled off the bed after it.

 

“Oh my god, you coulda just said no,” Stiles griped, picking up the book and carefully unbending the pages it landed on. He stood up and squawked again as he spun right into Derek’s body.

 

“Derek, what -”

 

Stiles was cut off as Derek pulled him flush along his chest. One claw went up the inside of his tank top, the heel of Derek’s hand digging into the hollow curve of his spine.

 

If weres have super healing, why were Derek’s hands rough?

 

The other hand trailed down under the waistband of his trousers, claws leaving little risen welts over Stiles’ skin. His hand hit the swell of Stiles’ ass and he squeezed, his claws sinking in to Stiles’ inner thigh.

 

“Argh!” Stiles couldn’t help screaming out a little. “Derek! Derek, look at me.”

 

Derek turned them around and toppled them both onto the bed. The hand on Stiles’ back travelled round, scratching Stiles as they went. Stiles cried out in pain. He could feel his own blood hot and sticky, ebbing out onto his trousers. Thick and red and…

 

“Derek you’ve hurt me, I’m bleeding, I...” The room was spinning, he felt sick. “I think I’m going to pass out. Derek...”

 

Derek was ignoring him in favour of ripping off clothes. Stiles glanced down at his side and saw the blood gather into little orbs along his scratches, slowly growing bigger. Stiles was starting to find it hard to breathe.

 

“Argent,” Stiles croaked out. Derek went freakishly still, eyes snapping furiously to his. “Argent!” Stiles screamed at the top of his lungs. Derek snarled and raised a fist.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up to a face on fire.

 

Not literally. It just hurt. So bad. He whimpered. Thinking hurt. Pain.

 

“Awake are we?”

 

That was Argent’s voice. Stiles tried to open his eyes but one stayed firmly shut.

 

“Interesting tactic, yelling out someone else’s name while in a werewolf’s bed.”

 

Stiles’ sight was blurry, but he was lying down - naked - on a soft but plasticy surface, the ceiling was pure white, and Argent was somewhere on his right. Medical room?

 

“I don’t know your name,” Stiles muttered. “I guessed.”

 

He couldn’t feel any restraints holding him down, but he didn’t really feel like moving to check.

 

“Hmm… The file did say you were clever,” he replied. “Chris Argent.”

 

“And I’m Stiles. Look at us, finally being introduced to each other,” Stiles wheezed. “What happened?”

 

“He beat you.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles mumbled. He didn’t quite remember that. “I think I passed out before that. I’m squeamish.”

 

Stiles heard movement then Argent loomed into his line of sight. “And have a history of panic attacks, yes. I have actually read your file, you know,” he said with a frown, like his competence was under question.

 

“Oh,” Stiles voiced, taken aback although he didn’t know why having a file shocked him. Of course he had a file. “What’s the damage?”

 

“You lost two teeth, there’s swelling around your left eye and lip, five stiches in your thigh, four scratches unlikely to scar on your left side, and you’re now as colourful as an oil spill.”

 

Stiles grimaced, which hurt, which made him grimace more. Vicious circle.

 

“Why?”

 

“Oh, our fault really. We gave him a new dosage but now we’re confident – ”

 

“No,” Stiles interrupted, the corners of his eyes leaking tears. “Why?” It was a question that had rolled around in his head since the beginning. He could usually ignore the screaming unjust question in his mind, but not now.

 

“It will make him stronger.”

 

“Why me,” Stiles repeated numbly.

 

“He likes you,” Argent replied, as if it were obvious.

 

“How many were before me?”

 

“What makes you think there were others?”

 

Stiles shrugged. Ouch. “Common sense,” and clues. Argent said others had been ripped apart. Division probably started with volunteers, not a high school kid from a backwater town. Otherwise they were crazy, he couldn’t have been first.

 

“Three died. In the beginning. He rejected seven more after.”

 

Stiles pressed further, desperate to get more information when Argent was being so abiding.

 

“How did you pick me?” he asked calmly.

 

“Pure luck. An operative recognised your scent when he was visiting home.” Argent disappeared from view, Stiles could hear gentle rustling and clattering.

 

“My scent?”

 

“Exceptionally similar, although not identical, to the scent on the red jumper.”

 

That jumper again. Him again.

 

“Why drug Derek?”

 

“Compliance and inhibition. We’ll probably get to stop after you’ve had intercourse. You’ll… anchor him.”

 

“You mean I’ll be leverage,” Stiles muttered.

 

“Not exactly. Now get some rest.”

 

Stiles felt a sharp prick and then a drowsy feeling settle over him. Nap time.

 

-

 

When he woke up this time everything just ached. He groaned.

 

“You awake?” asked a soft voice.

 

“Think so,” Stiles croaked.

 

“Good. We’re going to try some water, then soup.”

 

The bed jolted as it moved up the way and Stiles gasped as his whole body sparked with pain. The bed stopped moving when he was sitting up and Stiles let out the breath he had been holding.

 

“Why am I naked?”

 

Argent shrugged. “Access.”

 

Stiles found it difficult to lift his cup and his spoon but there was no way he was letting psycho bro feed him. Each sip was a painful victory. Argent sat and watched creepily. Still wearing those latex gloves.

 

“I want my dad,” Stiles said suddenly into the quiet of his eating.

 

“I could arrange that. If you did something for me first.”

 

“No. I want my dad – ”

 

“I want doesn’t get,” Argent said standing and moving to stand beside Stiles. “Here’s the deal sunshine. You and twelve-x are having sex as soon as possible or I’m going to activate his territory senses.”

 

Stiles frowned. “What does that - “

 

Stiles’ choked off his reply as Argent’s hand landed on the inside of his thigh and slid up until his fingers were brushing up against his balls. Stiles was completely frozen. This was worse than Derek. He was supposed to be safe here, this was, this was _wrong._

 

“I’ll put my hands and my scent all over you. It’ll make him jealous. He’ll feel compelled to cover you up in his scent again. To mark his territory like a dog pissing,” Argent leaned in closer. “In fact, that’s something we might even look into doing.”

 

Stiles took a beat before swinging his fist at Argent’s face. He easily dodged. “You can leave now,” Stiles said as calmly as he could muster.

 

“If you’re sure,” Argent said with a last pat to Stiles’ thigh that made Stiles flinch. “You’ll miss me though.”

 

“Doubtful,” Stiles muttered as the asshole walked away.

 

“You forget, Stiles, I get to read your vital signs. You always enjoy talking to me.”

 

Stiles threw his cup at the door. Argent was gone before it could hit the door.

 

-

 

Stiles wasn’t certain how long he spent in that room. Whatever they were putting in the dressing on his wounds was certainly doing the trick though. He’d never healed so fast before. Maybe it was the experimental drugs they gave Erica to transfer were-healing?

 

Or they were keeping him asleep for longer than he thought.

 

Stiles tried not to think about that one.

 

He was not thinking about Argent.

 

Okay he was thinking about Argent, but he wasn’t missing him.

 

He missed his dad, more than anything. More than… Derek.

 

Derek.

 

Okay so. Sex. Sex. With Derek. That was a thing that was going to happen. Eventually - inevitably. Maybe he should just… get on with it? If Argent was going to – then he should… Derek at least felt for him. In his tiny little monster brain. Derek cared. Derek tried to care. He was also hot if you ignored the distorted face, red eyes, fangs, and claws. So, like, the middle bit. The abs. The abs were good.

 

And he missed his dad. And Scott. And Harley. And the beautiful Lydia. And Erica.

 

Why not just... Let it happen? Everyone else would be a lot happier and he might even get something out of it - and if he stopped fighting it he wouldn't get hurt. He could enjoy it, maybe. Derek would be happy, and a happy Derek would mean less violence.

 

He could see his dad.

 

-

 

He was sitting in his back garden. His dad was grilling. It was sunny and bright. Then it was dark. He was still in his garden but it was surrounded by woods. There were little red eyes all staring at him. When he got closer he could see that they were cameras. Something was behind him.

 

-

 

He woke up back in the room, gasping. He couldn’t quite remember…

 

He went back to sleep.

 

-

 

He woke up and Derek was staring at him. Sitting cross legged at the end of the bed, their bed, in their room. Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

“Any food yet?” he asked groggily. Derek shook his head. Stiles hummed and turned over onto his side, wincing a little, but managing to snuggle down. He felt the bed dip and suddenly Derek’s face was in front of his, eyes peering intently. Stiles closed his eyes. Derek whined. Stiles peeked an eye open. “Mm tired, ‘kay?” Derek looked sad but nodded. Stiles lifted a hand and carded it through Derek’s hair. He fell asleep again.

 

-

 

He woke up to the smell of bacon.

 

Derek’s head was pressed against his chest and his hand was still resting on Derek’s head. Stiles sighed for a moment before shifting out from under the covers. Derek’s eyes sprang open.

 

“Food,” Stiles said, nodding his head toward the table. Derek blinked and stretched while Stiles stumbled over to the table. Derek joined him promptly, staring at Stiles. Stiles caught the stare.

 

“I’m alright, you know.”

 

Derek looked down at his food and they ate in silence for a few moments.

 

“I don’t remember the last time I had bacon,” Stiles said suddenly. “I used to ban my dad from buying any to help keep his cholesterol down. He snuck in bacon cheese burgers at work though. Thought he was being clever. Then I bribed the whole department against him. Now he can’t even sneak in a doughnut.”

 

Stiles didn’t notice the tears running down his cheeks till Derek was beside him bringing him into a hug. Stiles turned toward him.

 

“I miss my dad,” he cried into Derek’s chest.

 

Derek, as always, said nothing in return.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up the next day to Derek staring at him. Stiles groaned. “What’s up with the stare?”

 

Derek immediately ducked his head. Stiles shook his head snorting. “Go run a bath for us, eh?” he asked. Derek tilted his head. Stiles’ heart went thump in his throat. “Unless you don’t want to -”

 

Stiles didn’t get to finish the sentence before Derek literally leaped out of bed and into the bathroom. Stiles grinned a little at that, but couldn’t help the small lump of anxiety that grew in his chest. It was going to be fine. It was just a bath. Stiles drifted a little staring up at the ceiling, trying to think and not think at the same time. Derek was having a good day, he had a good day yesterday, a bath would be a fun way to get over a lot of hurdles, they had a good rapport with the bath, baths were relaxing too so –

 

Derek appeared in Stiles peripheral. He gave a small smile and flailed out the bed. Derek stepped into the bathroom and Stiles followed, trying not to feel like a moron. He dipped his hand in the bath. It was lovely and warm. He let his fingers swirl around for a moment before straightening up again. And now for undressing. Oh.

 

They had never done that before.

 

Derek seemed to sense Stiles’ hesitance and pulled off his own tank top first then raised an eyebrow. Stiles grinned and stripped off his own shirt. Derek then pulled off his trousers. Stiles copied. Then Derek easily pulled off his underwear. Stiles froze for a moment just taking Derek in. Derek hadn’t ever been naked in front of him before. Minus the freakish head, hands, and feet, Derek was… fit.

 

Derek tapped his foot against the ground, startling Stiles’ out of his staring. He blushed when he caught Derek’s smirk, then pushed his underwear down to the ground and stepped out of it. He stared down at the ground, ignoring Derek as he stepped closer until Derek gently took his hand. Stiles lifted his head and Derek snuck a peck on the lips. Stiles felt some tension leave his shoulders as Derek led him over to the bath.

 

“I love baths,” Stiles said stepping into the water, wiggling his toes in the water before sitting down, Derek sat down across from him which made Stiles blink for a moment before he settled. “My uh, my mom used to take me to the swimming pool when I was little. Me and Scott. I wasn’t ever a swimmer I just…” Stiles shrugged. “I liked splashing around.”

 

Derek snorted and let a hand curl around one of Stiles’ ankles, bringing it up and then pressing thumbs into the arch. Stiles smiled. “Am I getting a foot massage?” Derek shrugged, pulling Stiles’ toes out the water and kissing them.

 

“Dude, that’s so gross,” Stiles said without thinking. Derek snorted and let Stiles’ foot sink back into the water, continuing his massage again. Stiles hummed and leaned his head back, basking in the bath. Derek made his way from one foot to the other, then up over his ankles and kneading his calves. “You’re really good at this?” Stiles said, lifting his head back up to look at Derek. Derek shrugged again. “Are you a masseuse?” Stiles asked cheekily. Derek stared at him for a moment before nodding. Stiles blinked. “Oh. Like… really? A trained proper professional masseuse?” Derek nodded again. Stiles felt stupid. “I… expect more massages then,” he said finally. “From Derek the werewolf masseuse.”

 

Derek pushed up one of Stiles’ knees and kissed it, before he moved up to Stiles’ thighs. Stiles gasped. “Wow,” he croaked. “I hadn’t actually realised how stiff I was,” he laughed. “I guess lying around in bed all day wasn’t good for me after all.” Derek rolled his eyes, lent forward and gave Stiles a brief peck on the mouth. Stiles waited a split second then chased after his lips, twisting his fingers into the nape of Derek’s hair and sliding up into Derek’s lap. Derek blinked.

 

“I’m ready,” Stiles said. “When you’re like this, when we’re like this together…” Stiles' tongue darted out to wet his lips. “It feels easy, you know? Feels... Like it's supposed to be this way.” Stiles took a breath. “I'm ready.”

 

Derek made a keening noise and his eyes slowly turned a hazel blue.

 

“You're eyes are so pretty,” Stiles whispered before he leaned forwards capturing Derek's lips in a kiss. “So damn pretty.”

 

-

 

Stiles woke up sore. They had tried so hard to be gentle and well… they had gotten a little carried away. Stiles grinned up at the ceiling as he remembered. Derek rolled over in the bed next to him and swung a knee over Stiles’ leg before grumbling lightly.

 

“Good morning to you too,” Stiles teased, unerringly alert for having just woken. Derek grumbled again, flinging a hand over his eyes. “Your hands,” Stiles noticed as he twisted his head to look at Derek. “They’re normal.”

 

Derek stretched his hand out in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. He turned over to face Stiles properly. Stiles sighed. “Still got your wolf on though.”

 

Derek bared his teeth and Stiles snorted. “How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, if like a lamb his looks could translate.” Derek reached out and cupped Stiles’ cheek, kissing him gently. Stiles suddenly felt melancholy as he realised. “They’re going to take you away now. Put you back on the drugs.” Derek slowly dragged his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone before slipping closer and cradling Stiles’ in his arms.

 

-

 

They did take Derek away.

 

-

 

They didn’t bring him back.

 

-

 

“So we finally have sex and you separate us,” Stiles said up the ceiling as he lay on his bed. “I see no logic to this.”

 

-

 

There is a girl with shining blue eyes and Stiles thinks she’s beautiful and familiar. She's a surprise. A gem. A secret.

 

He's in the woods and the girl is shadow. Elsewhere. Stiles knows she's somewhere here. Safe in the woods.

 

There is something behind him.

 

-

 

There was a distinct lack of Derek for the next few days, which did interesting things to Stiles' mind. Had he been too clingy. Had he been too childish. Too inexperienced. Derek wanted someone else. He had been too aloof. Too assertive. Thoughts tumbled around his head until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“I want my dad,” he said every day. No one replied. Liars.

 

-

 

Stiles was half asleep when he heard the cage doors open and shut, curled up with his back against the wall at the top of the bed. He blinked open his eyes sluggishly, focusing on the person coming in. He smiled.

 

“Der -”

 

Stiles was cut off as Derek swooped down for a biting kiss. Stiles obliged him. Derek pulled him up by the waist and pinned him to the middle of the bed by the hips with a grip so tight it bruised. Stiles crushed his hands into his eyes and breathed. Derek was always like this when he came back, just go with it and maybe he won’t hurt you like last time –

 

Derek pulled off Stiles clothes quickly, claw tips seemingly everywhere. Stiles whined when Derek pinched him.

 

“Derek, lube,” Stiles wheezed. Stiles grabbed Derek’s hair when his request was ignored and yanked him up. “Go get the lube or no sex. Bathroom cabinet. Go.”

 

Derek snarled but rolled off the bed. Stiles tried to compose himself but failed. He was crying by the time Derek came back. He didn’t stop until after they were done.

 

Derek didn't hold him after.

 

-

 

Derek was taken away after breakfast. He didn't give Stiles a kiss before he left. Stiles felt bereft of it.

 

-

 

Gone again.

 


	12. Chapter 12

CXXXI

 

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,

As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;

For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart

Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,

Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;

To say they err I dare not be so bold,

Although I swear it to myself alone.

And to be sure that is not false I swear,

A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,

One on another's neck, do witness bear

Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.

In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,

And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.


	13. Chapter 13

 

Well what the fuck does that mean?


	14. Chapter 14

 

Stiles was sick of this.

 

“Where's my dad? You said I'd get my dad.”

 

And if it wasn't that it was

 

“Where's Derek? What are you doing to him?”

 

-

 

He had fallen asleep under the bed again. He woke to a grip around his ankle and being dragged out from under it. Sheer terror coursed through his veins until he saw Derek's face.

 

“Oh my god, Derek, that was like every horror movie I've ever watched, man. Never scare me like that again.”

 

Derek knelt down on top of Stiles, settling his knees either side of Stiles' waist.

 

“What - “

 

Derek pushed down his trousers, letting his erection free. Stiles huffed.

 

“You've had a real one track mind recently,” he muttered. Derek gripped Stiles hair tight, pinning his head to the ground.

 

“Derek, what -”

 

Derek didn't give him the opportunity to finish the sentence as he slid his erection in past Stiles' lips. Stiles struggled for a minute before going slack. Either way it didn't seem to deter Derek. Jaw burning and throat aching Stiles wasn't certain he wanted to repeat the experience.

 

-

 

Derek slept on the floor. Stiles didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. Stiles tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. Stiles fretted but eventually called out hoarsely.

 

“Derek?”

 

Stiles heard Derek rustle for a moment before his two red eyes appeared at the edge of the bed.

 

“Can you, I mean...” Stiles found himself getting worked up into a fankle. “I need, can I have... Just...” Stiles heaved a sigh and curled up tight, cocooning himself, hoping embarrassment would just kill him. After a few moments he felt the bed dip. Derek pressed against his back and Stiles relaxed just a little as Derek put arms over him and his blankets. He finally went to sleep.

 

-

 

“I hate it when you're away,” Stiles said over breakfast. “You come back different. I hate that. I hate being alone.”

 

Derek said nothing as he pushed food around his plate, glaring at his breakfast.

 

“Are they taking you away again?”

 

Derek glanced up at Stiles, gaze blank.

 

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,

Injurious distance should not stop my way;

For then despite of space I would be brought,

From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.

No matter then although my foot did stand

Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;

For nimble thought can jump both sea and land

As soon as think the place where he would be.

 

“Never mind,” Stiles mumbled finishing his breakfast.

 

Derek reached out a hand and cupped Stiles' face before he left. It felt like an empty gesture.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Being your slave what should I do but tend

Upon the hours, and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend;

Nor services to do, till you require. 

Nor dare I chide the world without end hour,

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,

When you have bid your servant once adieu;

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought

Save, where you are, how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love, that in your will,

Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

 

-

 

There is a girl with shining blue eyes. Teeth that curl into a grin or a snarl, both and neither. She's scared and younger than he thought. Stiles is reaching for her in the busy city. Trying to cloak her in the noise and bustle and people towering on all sides.

 

Then she's gone. He's in the woods. His house is just past the trees. He knows. He doesn't see.

 

There is something behind him.

 

-

 

Derek came back. Pushed him onto the bed without so much as making eye contact with him.

 

Three times makes a pattern. He should probably start keeping the lube closer to the bed.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

If three times makes a pattern then what did four make?


	17. Chapter 17

 

This time Derek came back with a still healing gunshot wound. Stiles laid him out on the bed and kissed him all over before he started on the sex. Derek fell asleep just before he finished. Stiles lay naked next to him and slowly watched the skin knit back together, questions rattling around in his head. Who shot Derek? Why? Where had he been? What was he doing? Why wasn’t he healing faster? How long did he get to stay this time?

 

Derek snuffled in his sleep and reached for Stiles, gripping him tight enough to bruise. Stiles didn't even flinch; he just nestled into Derek's side.

 

-

 

The girl is crying. Derek is holding her. Derek's face is his own. Is human. Stiles can't see it. Stiles is standing behind the man. The stranger is taller but not by much. He's pointing the gun. Pleading. He shoots.

 

He's in the woods, sunlight dappling through the trees. The stranger is still in front of him. The stranger is searching for him.

 

There is something behind him.

 

-

 

Stiles was yanked upright whilst he was sleeping, dreams slipping away like they usually do.

 

“Fnarrgh?”

 

Derek pulled him along stumbling into the bathroom and into the shower unit. The water rained down on them and Derek breathed heavily into Stiles' neck. Stiles was suddenly struck with memories of being smaller, of being shorter. Times when Derek had to stoop to reach his neck.

 

How long had he been here?

 

“Do you know the date?”

 

Derek lifted his head and kissed Stiles gently.

 

“That's not really an answer, big guy.”

 

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist, tight and crushing. Stiles whimpered. Derek dropped his head back into the crook of Stiles' neck. Stiles lifted his hands and hugged Derek. Derek growled. Stiles froze before lowering his arms back down, letting them hang limply by his sides. Eventually Derek let go and left Stiles standing alone in the shower. Stiles frowned, switching off the shower, and wrapped himself up in a towel. He followed Derek through to the bedroom where Derek was just sitting on the bed dripping water. Stiles hesitated before going and getting a towel then heading back to the bedroom. He approached Derek and placed it around Derek's shoulders, rubbing gently to help dry. Derek stayed as still as a statue.

 

Stiles went and got dressed, anxiety over Derek building with each passing second. He got a set of clothes for Derek and laid them out on the bed beside him.

 

“It's time for you to get dressed now, Der,” he stated calmly. Stiles frowned and kept down to look up at Derek's unfocused gaze. “Der?” He asked, reaching out and placing a hand on Derek's knee. Derek's eyes honed in on the hand. Stiles faultered.

 

“I, uh, I mean the bed is getting - “

 

Derek's fist flew, socking Stiles right in the face. Stiles fell back with a cry. He backed away fearful of more violence, but Derek only took the clothes into the bathroom and closed the door. Stiles jumped to his feet, pressing his fingers to his jaw. When Derek re-entered the room Stiles couldn't help the half step back, but Derek ignored him. Instead he sat on the bed, perched on the edge again, still and silent.

 

The breakfast tray slid in. Stiles wondered if it was scheduled or made to order; whether the food was organised to break tensions instead of giving routines. Sometimes the timing was too... Useful.

 

Stiles sat down at the table, but Derek didn't join him. Stiles ate his fill quietly, hyper aware of the sound of his chewing and swallowing.

 

“You need food,” Stiles blurted out and then immediately hated himself for it. “After healing. You'll need the energy.” God he just didn't know when to stop did he? Shutupshutupshutup.

 

After a minute of tense, unbearable, silence, Derek stood up and made his way over to the table. Stiles tensed up when Derek stopped directly behind Stiles' chair. Stiles yelped when he suddenly toppled backwards as Derek dragged his chair across the room. Derek deposited Stiles in the corner and left him there.

 

“So, what? Do I just – “

 

Derek grabbed Stiles neck and squeezed hard cutting off Stiles' voice and air. Stiles fingers grappled at the grip but found no purchase. Derek let go Stiles' face turned purple. As Stiles gasped for air Derek raised a hand and held it over Stiles' mouth. Stiles flinched and reared back but Derek held him steady, not wavering in his grip against Stiles' mouth. When Stiles breathing and flailing had calmed down Derek released him. Stiles sat staring at the wall, terrified to even breath too loud.

 

It was going to be a long day.

 

-

 

The noise of the lunch tray was so sudden Stiles jumped, smacking his knee off the wall. Stiles hissed, rubbing at it before twisting round in his chair. Derek was still sitting mindlessly on the bed. Stiles stood up and carried his chair over to the table, pulling up his lunch plate. Soup and sandwich.

 

Derek stood and made his way over, took Stiles' arm and manoeuvred him back to the corner.

 

“Owowowowowowowowow,” Stiles commentated on the way over. When Derek let go of him he huffed. “Derek I gotta eat, you know tha – “

 

Derek hit him again, this time in his side. Stiles buckled over and Derek shoved him the rest of the way down, stamping down on Stiles' knee before leaving him there. Stiles curled up and shut his eyes. Why this? Why now?

 

-

 

It was dinner now. Stiles stared darkly at Derek and huddled into his corner a bit more tightly. Derek didn't even acknowledge the food sitting out on the table. Stiles gritted his teeth and shifted around. The wall was not comfortable.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up to an itchy face stuck via drool to the carpet.

 

“Ugh, gross.”

 

He sat up slowly and woozily. Disorientated. Then as he stretched and his side burst into pain he remembered.

 

Stiles peered over at the bed. Derek was out cold. He looked as tired as Stiles felt. While he was sleeping. It was nearly impressive.

 

There was food out on the dining table still so Stiles ambled over to it, stubbing his toe on the table leg when his knee gave out, and sat down to eat at the fruit salad breakfast. He glanced over again at Derek. Still in that unconscious slumber. Stiles frowned. He lifted his cup then dropped it, letting it clatter as it hit the table. Derek didn't twitch. Stiles leaned back absentmindedly, chewing on his food as his mind chewed on his thoughts, half formed and fleeting.

 

He tapped his fork against the plate, scraping and screeching the prongs against the porcelain. Derek remained undisturbed. Stiles narrowed his eyes. He stole Derek's plate and shoved the food onto his own, before standing up and making his way over to the bed. Derek didn't register his presence. He looked a bit pale, sweaty. Like he had the flu or something.

 

Stiles knelt on the bed slowly easing his weight down onto the mattress, conscious of his aching knee, but Derek didn't stir. Stiles made his way over to Derek's side on his knees and plopped down next to him. He reached out over Derek’s head and traced the contours of his face, pushed his fingertips into the points of Derek's fangs. Derek reacted to that by grinding his teeth and huffing, giving Stiles a small heart attack. Stiles dropped his hand and made a face at Derek before lifting a piece of fruit up to Derek's lips. Derek's nostrils flared and a few moments later Derek's tongue came out swipe the food away, automatically chewing and swallowing. Stiles watched fascinated, before lifting the next piece, once again become transfixed as Derek slept-ate. Strange what some people could do unconscious, Stiles thought as he rested another bit of fruit on Derek’s lips.

 

“My dad hates fruit. He’d rather have vegetables. Is that weird? I always thought that was weird,” Stiles said absentmindedly. “He prefers savoury to sweet as well. I can sort of understand that, but the whole aversion to fruit thing is strange. He doesn’t like strawberries, who doesn’t like strawberries? Even people who are allergic to strawberries like strawberries. Or lemons. You would have thought maybe lemons because they’re sour and more acidic and citrusy but no, still nothing. I remember this one time, mom had baked an apple pie and the smell of it was everywhere, and when dad came home he turned around and walked right back out. I remember mom cackled as she open up the windows. She thought it was hilarious.”

 

Stiles had been so caught up in his nattering he failed to notice Derek blinking his eyes open until Derek reached up and ran the back of his fingers along Stiles’ cheek. Stiles stopped talking, staring into the fruit bowl. Derek’s fingers drifted down before tapping on Stiles’ lips in a familiar way. Stiles sighed.

 

“What do you want me to fucking talk about, Derek?” he questioned, dejected. “That it hurts when I take a deep breath because some asshole punched me in the ribs last night?”

 

Derek took Stiles’ by the jaw and pulled at him. Stiles turned his face away but got claws in his chin for his trouble.

 

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” Stiles chimed as Derek pulled him closer. “What do you want?” Stiles pleaded when Derek didn’t remove his claws.

 

Derek swiped a thumb over Stiles’ lips before slipping a thumb under the waistband of his trousers. Stiles closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

 

“Fine. But keep your hands to yourself.”

 

-

 

“You know they promised me my dad. He said… if I slept with you, I could see him,” Stiles stared blankly at the ceiling. “I haven’t.”

 

Derek turned over onto his side to face Stiles. Then shoved him off the bed to the floor. Stiles didn’t bother moving.

 

-

 

Derek was gone when he woke up. Stiles was glad.

 


	18. Chapter 18

“I don't think he loves me anymore.”

Chris paused from where he was stitching Stiles' eyebrow in the cell at the bottom of the surveillance room. Latex gloves squeaky clean going back and forth and back and forth while sewing. It was the first thing Stiles had said to him since they'd begun.

“Also, you overdosed whatever you're using on my adhd today,” he continued. “I feel all...” Stiles searched for the adjective. “Tranquil. Loopy.”

“That might be the painkiller. I'll make a note of it,” Chris replied.

They sat in silence a few moments longer before Stiles broke.

“My dad - “

“Why do you think twelve-x doesn't love you?” Chris steamrolled in, ignoring Stiles entirely. Stiles held back his tears.

“You know why,” Stiles sulked. “You can see.”

“That's all I can do. See. What I see is twelve-x doing what he always does. Tell me what your experience is.”

Stiles shrugged. “He... Doesn't kiss me goodbye anymore. And the violence is different. He used to...” Stiles struggled for the words as Chris checked his arm for sprains. “He used to manhandle me how he wanted me. Now he has me then hurts me,” Stiles said softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chris cupped Stiles' cheek and forced eye contact. “No. I'm very happy with you, and your progress, you're not the problem. I promise. I wouldn't lie to you.”

Stiles found himself leaning into the human contact, even if it was against cold gloves. Derek never touched him anymore. The last person to touch him was -

_You forget, Stiles, I get to read your vital signs. You always enjoy talking to me._

Stiles blinked and pulled away from Chris. A blush rising to his cheeks. Chris was a liar. He should remember that. Remember Dad. He promised him Dad. Liar, liar, _pants on fire -_

“Stiles?”

“What?”

“I said I'll need you to take your trousers off to take a look at your knee,” he repeated patiently.

Stiles stared for a moment, then gave a big fake smile. “For access?”

Chris' gaze went a little colder. “That's it exactly.”

“I'd rather have the banged up knee, thanks.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “And I'd rather have sedated you, but the doctor recommended against it. Plus it gives us a chance to talk. And I know how much you miss talking.”

Stiles clenched his jaw as the barb hit home.

“Now be a good boy and take off your trousers.”

Stiles' face burned with humiliation as he pushed off the gurney, pulled the trousers down, and kicked them off.

“And while we're at it, the underwear too.”

Stiles bit the inside of his mouth until it bled as he slipped his boxers off too. Chris gave a slow once over, his expression blank and empty.

“Now back up onto the gurney.”

Stiles hopped back up onto the gurney, eyes closed, breathing harsh. Chris was doing this on purpose, it was just a sick twisted power play, just ignore -

Chris gripped the back of Stiles' neck, startling him out of his thoughts, making him tense up.

“And just lie back for me, Stiles,” Chris said guiding him down firmly, leaving him exposed. “Perfect, twenty-four l, you're doing fine,” Chris said, moving down to examine Stiles' knee and patting Stiles' thigh. “Good boy.”

_Like a dog pissing -_

“Now,” Chris said gently as tears ran across Stiles' face. “Tell me more about Derek not loving you.”

-

Stiles sat alone in the darkness. Apparently Stiles could request they be turned off. How nice of them to acquiesce to his request.

He felt hollow. Spent. Used up. So numb that it hurt.

He didn't know how to fix it.


	19. Chapter 19

Derek came back three days later. Stiles sat up from where he had sprawled out on the bed. Derek landed on the bed across him and went straight to sleep. Stiles tried pulling his legs out from under Derek's bulk but was unable. Stiles fell back onto the bed and reached for the play. Waiting for the next act.

 

-

 

Derek must have woken after Stiles had fallen asleep. He must have because now they were both shirtless and under the blankets. Stiles shifted and Derek shifted back, rolling his hips into Stiles' ass. Stiles went limp, letting Derek rut up against him like the old days. When Derek finished Stiles tried to roll away. Derek didn't let him. He grabbed a hold of Stiles' shoulders and pinned him down, swinging up over him, snarling, fangs bared. Then Derek started hitting him. Again and again and again. Stiles was curled up and shaking when Derek stopped. Derek pawed at him to lie flat again before smooshing his face against Stiles' stomach and passing out. Stiles bit his thumb to keep silent.

 

-

 

Gone again in the morning.

 

-

 

He’s started to crave the gentle way Chris handles him during the medical checks. He thinks Chris knows it, has his hands linger as latex fingers press and bend and grip, cradle his chin as he checks pupil reactions, slides fingers along skin instead of lifting them.

 

He doesn’t remember when he started calling him Chris in his head.

 

-

 

Derek appeared from nowhere and grabbed him in the shower. Spun him around. Lifted him up. Pinned him against the wall. It was rough, and ironically drier than usual. They finished showering together. Derek rubbing down Stiles’ back, giving an absentminded massage. Stiles tilted his head back and stole a quick kiss. Derek growled lightly. Stiles sighed.

 

“I am as fair now as I was erewhile. Since night you loved me; yet since night you left me.”

 

Derek gave out a soft grunt.

 

“From our play,” Stiles replied. Derek pressed his nose into Stiles' shoulder. “Can you do me greater harm than hate?”

 

Derek reached over and switched the shower off, stepping out and leaving Stiles to bite his lip in frustration. Stiles turned, staring at Derek towel dry.

 

“So I'm right then. You do hate me.”

 

Derek simply glared.

 

Stiles suddenly felt a lump in his throat as his vision went fuzzy from tears.

 

“And even for that do I love you the more.

I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,

The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:

Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,

Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,

Unworthy as I am, to follow you.

What worser place can I beg in your love,--

And yet a place of high respect with me,--

Than to be used as you use your dog?” Stiles recited.

 

He cried slumping to the ground trying to stave off a panic attack. “I never thought I'd relate to Hermia and oh my god I'm the girl here aren't I?”

 

Stiles heard Derek growl distantly.

 

“I'm the girl and why are you growling? Am I not the girl?” Derek stopped growling. “Are you the girl?” Derek snarled and Stiles jumped in fright, finally looking up at Derek who was staring at Stiles from across the bathroom.

 

“Okay then who's the girl?” Derek raised an eyebrow and let his eyes drift down. Stiles flummoxed caught between sarcasm and the overwhelming urge to cover up, _now back up onto the gurney -_

 

“I know I'm a boy,” Stiles spat. Derek stalked out of the room. “Wait! Gah!” Stiles punched the roughcast floor and split his knuckles for his troubles. This was too much, this was too much, he couldn't handle - Derek hated him, Derek -

 

Stiles' heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest, the blood rushing in his ears made it impossible to hear his sharp shallow breaths. Panic attack. Stupid panic attacks. Slow your breath, slow your -

 

Stiles curled up in a ball pressing his head to the floor and covering his ears with his hands. He started reciting sonnets, letting the iambic pentameter sooth him into a regular rhythm again. When he felt like he had enough oxygen in his blood to stand he stumbled through to the bedroom. Derek had slept through it. Or fallen asleep whilst it was happening. Stiles wasn't sure which was worse as he crawled into bed beside him. Derek snuggled up to Stiles in his sleep, letting his teeth rest on Stiles collarbone. Stiles lay petrified the whole night.

 

-

 

Derek stayed which was odd. And it was odd it was odd. Stiles lay on his stomach on the bed watching Derek do pushups.

 

“The pushups are a way to punish yourself, aren't they?” Sties eventually asked. Stiles caught the minute hesitation in the push ups. “Are you punishing yourself for hating me or loving me?”

 

Ooo oo oooooo, that one made his face twitch.

 

“I think they double dosed me again,” Stiles drawled. “Cause I could watch you go up and down all day.”

 

Derek ignored that one. Stiles frowned. He flopped over onto his back to look over at the red jumper. Derek loved Red Guy. So why would... How would that even...

 

“Oh.” Stiles realised. “I'm such an idiot.”

 

That one got a snort off Derek.

 

Stiles rolled back over to look at Derek. Stare. Figure out.

 

“Hey, come over here, I need to have serious, deep, kitchen floor chat.”

 

Funnily enough Derek didn't need any more persuading than that. He obviously knew how important kitchen floor chats were. He scooted over to the floor in front of Stiles and sat with his shoulder against the mattress.

 

“We don't have a kitchen floor,” Stiles stated. Derek stared at him. “Oh, yeah, sorry, off topic.” Stiles took a deep breath. “You love red guy - hey no, don't shut down on me,” Stiles pleaded as Derek started to turn away. Derek stopped and flopped back against the bed. Stiles exhaled. “I thought... They told me they drugged you, yeah?” Derek nodded his head slowly. “But see like,” Stiles gesticulated. “I thought they only drugged you a little, sometimes, like... Like when you stabbed my leg, right?” Derek nodded again. “But... It was all the time, wasn't it? Even when - “ Stiles breath caught in his throat and he lowered his voice down to a whisper. “Even when I thought you weren't? Even when... When we were in the bathtub?”

 

Derek looked down at the floor as he nodded.

 

“I'm sorry,” Stiles murmured. “I didn't know.”

 

Derek humfed and his nostrils flared but still nodded. Stiles flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

 

“So all of this has been a lie. Our whole thing. Every part...” Stiles thought out loud, licking his lips absently. “Except for everything after bathtub day.” Stiles chuckled darkly. “So the assault and the rape and the beatings... That's all you.”

 

Stiles pushed his head upside down at an odd angle to look at Derek who was looking back at him. Then Derek nodded. Stiles turned back to the ceiling.

 

“Because you've never loved me. How could you? You love him,” Stiles waved his hand in the direction of the hoodie. “I just remind you of him. And you hate that.”

 

Stiles twisted back around on his stomach and gave Derek a grin. “But hey, at least you didn't fall in love with a monster who beats you because he is literally your only option for human contact.” Derek's eyes flickered and Stiles reached a hand out and pressed a finger into Derek's cheek. “You aren't the only victim in the room. So stop fucking acting like it.”

 

Stiles retracted his finger. “Now, shoo, back to the press ups. Go punish yourself.”

 

Derek sat for a few moments before standing up and sitting on the bed next to Stiles. Stiles looked up at him. “Trying to decide between hitting me and kissing me? It's cool. A hundred percent of the people I've interacted with since we moved here have had to deal with that sensation.”

 

Stiles gave him a grin. Derek punched him in the face.

 

-

 

Some time after dinner Derek pinned him on the bed. “Why are you doing this? You don't even like me!” Stiles shouted. Derek gave him the meanest glare before punching him so hard the colours started singing.

 

“You shhhho do not need to pun' me,” Stiles slurred. “Can you see the spots? They just fly around my head, round and round.”

 

Then he lost consciousness.

 

-

 

It was cooler in the cell at the bottom of the observation room. He could feel Chris’ body heat even through the latex gloves, cupping his cheek as he shone a small beam of light into his eyes. Or maybe it was cooler because Chris made him take off his shirt for these checks, cool air making goosebumps appear along his arms – or the way Chris’ gaze sweeps across him, a strange mix of embarrassment, fear, and need coiling up in his gut making him shiver and ergo goosebumps.

 

“You’re fine,” Chris said, letting his fingers trail down Stiles’ face. “Just try not to say anymore stupid things in bed,” he said with a slightly stinging pat on the cheek. Stiles bit back his bitterness. “I’ll put something on that bruise,” he said turning to the trolley.

 

“What?” Stiles asked, peering at the trolley.

 

“A new type of cream. It’ll get rid of the swelling, and most of the pain,” he answered. “Hopefully,” he muttered.

 

“What?”

 

“Hold still.”

 

Chris stepped up close, right between Stiles’ legs, one hand taking his chin and turning his head, fingers pressed against Stiles’ face. Chris then gently rubbed the cream slowly onto Stiles’ battered cheek. The cream irritated his skin and Stiles fidgeted.

 

“Tshh tshh,” Chris soothed, shifting his grip, hooking a thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. Stiles froze. “It’s not hurting you, am I?”

 

Stiles didn’t trust himself to speak, to make any noise, to even swallow. He could feel saliva begin to pool where Chris had pulled down his lip just a little. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the feeling of slowly being shrunk.

 

“There we go,” Chris breathed. “That’s better now, isn’t it?”

 

Chris dragged his thumb down, bringing the drool down across Stiles’ chin. Stiles sat tensed, anxiety building in his chest. He always forgets how much he hates Chris’ attention when he gets it. Forgets that Derek’s just as trapped as he is, forgets that in the end people stop Derek.

 

No one would stop Chris.

 

The cool air dried the spit line slowly. Chris turned and walked away. “We’re done now. Shoo.”

 

-

 

That night he curled right up against Derek's side when the were eventually strolled in. Derek frowned but wrapped an arm around him anyway, holding him close. If Stiles closed his eyes tight he could almost imagine Derek cared.


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles started to carve on the walls, which Division did not like and made frequent but low voltage zaps to make their point, although that may have more to do with the fact he was stealing knives and forks from the dinner plates than anything else.

 

He wasn't really sure what he was trying to create. He was bad at it for one, wallpaper and forks didn't make for a good canvas.

 

He tried making his dad's face, but he couldn't quite ever get it settled in his mind. His dad's face wasn't static in his mind. Always shifting and ageing and moving. Same with Scott. And Lydia... He didn't really remember what her face looked like. He could picture parts, but never the whole. Same with most people.

 

He could recall Chris with frightening ease. Derek was like a vivid flashing photograph soldered onto the inside of his eyelids. But they don't need to know that.

 

So he started carving windows with views. Mountains. Fields. Cities. Streets. Pyramids. Castles.

 

“You know I haven't been outside since our day in the pond,” Stiles said as Derek stood examining them for the first time. Derek turned to look at him. His eyes were dark, circles and bags and bloodshot. Or maybe that was just the constant red glow. It had been at least a week away this time. Probably more. Longer than usual certainly. “Do you remember the pond?”

 

Derek moved slowly, like an old man creaky and careful. He went over to the drawers and plucked the play from its perch then turned back to Stiles, holding it out like a question. Stiles smiled.

 

“Act one, scene one. Athens. The palace of Theseus,” he said. Derek raised an eyebrow and put the book down on the bed before sitting down, back to the wall and holding out a hand. Stiles joined him and they curled up together as Stiles recited the first act from memory before trailing off.

 

“Do you remember? Is it clear?” Sties asked gently. Stiles could feel Derek nod at his back while Derek's fingers rubbed Stiles hands. Stiles sighed, frustrated. “I don't understand - “ Stiles cut himself off. “Everytime I ask you this question you freak out,” Stiles whispered. Derek's fingers stopped moved and grasped Stiles' hands instead. “But, dude, why are you here? What are they doing to you?”

 

Stiles felt Derek's growl all along where his back pressed against Derek's chest. His fear spiked. Derek was going to claw his face off. Derek shifted his arms and encircled Stiles' waist, cocooning him in a weird self hug. Derek took a deep breath and calmed down.

 

Stiles waited, tense and nauseous, for an attack to come but all Derek did was kiss Stiles' temple. Stiles blinked. “What? No pummelling this time?” Stiles choked out. Derek gave a gentle growl before kissing Stiles' cheekbone. “No answer either, though,” Stiles remarked lightly. Derek kissed Stiles' jaw. Stiles settled against Derek's chest more firmly, letting go of tension still in his muscles. Derek's hands started wandering.

 

“There's lube under the mattress on your right if you want.”

 

Derek paused before nodding and giving Stiles a little kiss to the nape of his neck. Then he did nothing. Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

“Well don't hurt yourself, I'll get it,” Stiles snarked as he sprawled over to get it. Derek snorted and gave Stiles a slap on the ass. Stiles yelped. “Oh my god, you're such an asshole,” Stiles commented when he came back. Derek grabbed his thighs and settled Stiles on his lap. Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Like this?” Derek nodded and kissed the underside of Stiles jaw. Stiles gave a small smile. “Alright then.”

 

-

 

They re-wallpapered.

 

Stiles began again.

 

-

 

They took away his cutlery.

 

Stiles’ nails became bloody.

 

-

 

They stripped the wallpaper back to the wall.

 

Stiles admitted defeat.

 

-

 

Derek carved into the walls for him.

 

Then he snapped Stiles' humerus.

 

Then the handlers came in and tranqed them both.

 

Stiles still counted it as a good day.

 

-

 

“Here's something I don't get.”

 

Chris raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for Stiles to ask his question as he swung his legs back and forth on the gurney.

 

“You said… you said that you’d take Derek off the drugs after we…” Stiles mashed his hands together. Chris stared blankly. “Le sexing. Right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So why’s he still all…” Stiles lifting his fingers and made growling motions, chomping him teeth. “Wolfy.”

 

Chris sighed and took a step forward and placed his hands either side of Stiles. Stiles leaned back slightly.

 

“Are you on any drugs?” Chris asked lightly. Stiles frowned.

 

“Uh, no?”

 

Chris gave a crooked smile. “And yet…”

 

Stiles swallowed. “What?”

 

Chris stepped back to the medical trolley, pulled open one of the drawers, took out a chart, and began to read.

 

“Adderall, anti-depressants, pain killer, an antibiotic for that thing with your liver -”

 

“Hey, what’s wrong with -”

 

“Then there’s the stuff for your panic attacks, and a few things to help heal after an electric shock… And a vitamin supplement. Vitamin D. Down to a lack of sunshine. And those are just the drugs.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath and pressed his hands to his eyes letting the words settle for a moment, processing. Then. “Just the drugs?”

 

“Oh, twenty four l…” Chris gently patronised. “We live in a world where banshees can hear you die when you’re miles away, where burnt wood can stop deadly creatures in their tracks, where a person can gain enough power to control the weather itself…” Chris inclined his head. “You really think drugs are our only form of control around here? You think that anklet only administers shocks?”

 

Stiles clenched his teeth tight.

 

“But don’t you worry your pretty little head over it,” Chris said stepping forward and running a hand over Stiles’ head, gently pulling Stiles’ hands away from his eyes. “It’s not your job to know what we’re doing.”

 

Stiles stared blankly into the distance.

 

“Anything else you’d like to share with me?”

 

_What’s an anchor? What am I supposed to be anchoring him against? Why doesn’t he talk? Where’s my dad? Dadadadadadadadadadadadadad –_

“No, I think that was it.”

 

Chris smiled. “That’s great. Good boy.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

 

Stiles slowly came up to wakingness. He blinked at the ceiling for a few moments before turning into Derek’s loose arms. Derek snuffled at the top of Stiles’ head. Stiles hummed. Derek peeked an eye open. Stiles smiled at him.

 

“Your eyes are all pretty today,” he murmured. Derek did his weird fangy smile. Stiles grinned back.

 

“My dad has blue eyes. Mom’s eyes were brown like mine, well, dad always says mom’s eyes were amber so if mine are likes hers then mine are amber I suppose,” Stiles rambled gently, voice sleep husky.

 

Derek made an interested noise in his chest. Stiles sighed.

 

“Don’t really talk about mom. She… she got ill when I was younger. Changed her personality, her behaviour, her memory…” Stiles ran a thumb along Derek’s pec, distracted by the smoothness. “She got confused. She wasn’t – she wasn’t mom at the end. Not my mom.”

 

Derek ran his hand up and down Stiles’ back in a comforting gesture. Stiles hummed again.

 

“Dad met her in the rain. He used to say a wet t-shirt is the best way to catch a husband. Mom would say any man willing to stop in a rainstorm instead of just staring was worth marrying. I never understood when I was little…” Stiles frowned. “Have you ever rewatched Disney? The amount of adult jokes they throw in is ridiculous! Spoils your whole childhood,” Stiles ranted. “I mean when you watch them for the first time as an adult it’s okay, but rewatching is like…” Stiles made a hand motion. “Kapow!”

 

Stiles sniggered to himself for a moment before pondering. “Did you watch Disney when you were little?” Derek gave a slow nod. “Cool. What was your favourite? Ooo no, lemme guess…” Derek rolled his eyes and scooped Stiles up so he was sprawled across Derek’s chest and Derek was lying flat on his back. Stiles narrowed is eyes. “Do werewolves get pins and needles.” Derek mocked growled and kissed Stiles on the nose. Stiles chuffed.

 

“Well let’s see… what Disney will you have seen?” Derek snorted and grabbed some pillows to prop himself up. “I bet you liked the animal ones…” Stiles mused. “Fox and the Hound?” Derek shook his head. Stiles tapped his fingers against Derek’s chest.

 

“What about Winnie the Pooh?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head and ran his hand through Stiles’ hair. “Oh! Jungle Book!” Stiles exclaimed. Derek tilted his head but eventually shook it. “Aw, thought for sure that was it - but I’m close though, right?” Derek nodded.

 

“I loved the Rescuers,” Stiles sighed. Derek frowned. “Come on, the mice that go solve crimes, thy fly by albatross to Australia and they have restaurants in the chandeliers of restaurants?” Derek shrugged. “Oh, man! It’s brilliant – we should make Chris give us a date night at the movies. Except I totally wanna see the new x-men movie – I hear that they got some weres to play some mutants. How cool is that? Stan Lee must be buzzing…”

 

-

 

Stiles heard Derek get up and pad around the bathroom. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to ignore the way his leg was stiff and strained. Derek had done this thing with legs and shoulders and Stiles just wasn’t built for it. He was going to lie in bed all day. All day long and –

 

Stiles yelped when Derek picked him up off the bed, letting their blanket drop to the ground, leaving Stiles naked.

 

“Oh my god, Derek, it’s cold, and inappropriate I might add. Don’t just pick people up out of -”

 

Derek walked him into the bathroom and gently set him into a hot bath. Stiles frowned.

 

“Oh. You ran me a bath.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes and gave a bitch face – Stiles had started recognising that now – before stripping off his own clothes and settling across from Stiles in the water.

 

“Oliver and Company.”

 

Derek tilted his head.

 

“Your Disney movie? The musical animal American version of Oilver Twist? Yes?”

 

Derek shook his head before taking one of Stiles feet in a familiar way. Stiles gave a wide grin.

 

“Massage? Massage, right?”

 

Derek nodded.

 

“Oh my god, thank you, I am so sore, I don’t know what you were thinking last night but that is not going on my favourite positions list, I’m telling you.”

 

Derek’s eyes flickered slightly before nodded and pressing strong fingers against the ball of Stiles’ foot. Stiles moaned.

 

“God that’s so much better than sex.”

 

Derek gave a little pinch to Stiles’ calf which made him yelp. Stiles glared at Derek for a moment who then kissed the offended limb in apology. Stiles hummed.

 

“You do know I’ve ruled out Disney Pixar. That means no Toy Story.”

 

Derek nodded as his fingers worked over Stiles’ calf muscles.

 

“Alright… hmm… We’ll I think it’s probably a movie you saw when you were little, yeah?”

 

Derek nodded.

 

“Alright, so what age are you? Twenties?”

 

Derek shook his head.

 

“Thirties?”

 

Derek shook his head. Stiles paused.

 

“Forties?”

 

Derek didn’t make a motion for a few moments before shrugging.

 

“You’re not sure? How can you not be -”

 

Stiles cut himself off and looked away, letting his hands swirl around in the water.

 

“I don’t really know what age I am either…” Stiles commented. “So maybe you’re in your forties?”

 

Derek hummed. Stiles looked back at him frowning. “You look younger, but I suppose your face being all... makes it difficult to tell… But that means seventies movies!” Stiles exclaimed. Derek rolled his eyes.

 

“Lady and the Tramp?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head again. Was that even the seventies? God, Stiles was bad at this. “You know Lady was the first Disney girl who had a night of passion,” Stiles rambled. Derek raised an eyebrow. “Yup, both Jock and Reliable offer to marry her when she comes home after a night out with Tramp to preserve her honour. Which is adorable,” Stiles sighed. “But only cause they’re like thinking of her rather than thinking of what others would say.”

 

Derek hummed and moved over to Stiles other leg.

 

“Do you want to get married?”

 

Derek gritted his teeth.

 

“You’re already married, aren’t you?” Stiles asked dully. Derek nodded.

 

“Huh.”


	22. Chapter 22

 “How long do you think we'll be here?”

Derek shrugged, staring up at the blank ceiling as he lay on the bed naked beside Stiles.

“I mean,” Stiles said twisted over in the bedsheets, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up. “They can't keep us here indefinitely.”

Derek's eyes flitted over to Stiles'.

“I'd go to high school. Play video games. Get on the lacrosse team - the coach is supposed to be crazy. And I think my dad would get a kick out of it,” Stiles added. “He loves it when I'm joining in.”

Derek reached up. Stiles tensed until Derek gently cupped Stiles' jaw. Stiles leaned in for a moment, savouring the tranquility. It was rare these moments. Unfair. Sickening almost. Stiles felt a dark mood overtake him.

“Can you hear them?” Stiles murmured. Derek frowned, curling his fingers into the messy mane that had become Stiles' hair. “The clickity clack of keyboards? The whirring of camera lenses? The heartbeats of the people watching?”

Derek clenched his jaw and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

“Do they get off on it? Watching us like zoo animals in an exhibit? Seeing the kid get abused by a super human?”

Derek slapped Stiles lightly before he shifted his hand round to the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles ignored the hit.

“I wonder what makes a person do this to a kid,” Stiles blathered on. “Do you think Chris has kids? I - “

Derek made a noise in the back of his throat. Stiles frowned.

“Chris has kids?”

Derek gave a tight nod and lifted up one finger. 

“Oh my god. Boy?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head. “A girl? What age is she?”

Derek poked a finger against Stiles chest. Stiles frowned. “Me. My age? He has a kid my age?”

Stiles felt his stomach drop out.

“You think daddy dearest has her locked up too?” Stiles asked, numb. “Do you think he - “ _A pat on the thigh. ‘Good boy.’_

 

“He molests me.”

Derek's gaze sharpened. He turned over onto his side, pulling Stiles down to lie beside him. Stiles curled up, facing Derek's steady gaze uneasily. Derek gave a tiny nod and a familiar tap to the lips.

“When he's not happy with... How we're doing,” Stiles muttered quietly. “He'll do like his normal checkup or something, get my guard down, make me feel safe...” Stiles fidgeted. “Then he'll... Say something. Something cruel or whatever. Then when I'm upset he'll start...” Stiles' breathing was short and sharp. “It's never anything... I mean he. It's like. It's more like a threat, or just to knock me down or whatever. Drive me closer to you.” Tears ran down Stiles face. “And I hate him. But he's the only person I ever get to speak to. I'm always so damn relieved to see him.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and let him huddle in close. “I find it ironic that you're so concerned about this seeing as you're the one who's actually raping me.”

The fingers tangled in Stiles hair grip hard enough to hurt and Stiles sucked in a tight breath waiting for a retaliation but Derek relaxed, pressing his face into the top of Stiles' head and breathing deeply.

They fell asleep.

-

Stiles could feel the weight of the Chris' gaze from all the way in his little doorway cage. The gurney was out, along with the mini medical trolley, and Chris’ latex gloves were out in force as always. The cage opened and Stiles stepped forwards onto the white lino floor, bare feet cooling on the floor, and trundled forward to the gurney.

“Do you even have any medical training?” Stiles asked.

“On the gurney,” Chris instructed sharply. Stiles swallowed, feeling uneasy at the heightened hostility. They ran through the usual questions where does it hurt? can you rotate your wrist? Have you experienced any blindness or nausea, the usual poking and prodding and touching and bending of joints.

“Anything else you'd like to tell me?” Chris asked bruskly. Stiles shook his head. “How's the arm doing?”

“Feels like it was never broken.”

Chris' microscopic pleased look flitted across his face. “Maybe we'll test that.”

“How?”

“An x-ray machine. How else?” Chris answered with a raised eyebrow. “If that's all...” Chris gestured to the doorcage.

“Yeah...” Stiles sighed swinging down. “Oh, did you change cooks?”

“Cooks?”

“Yeah, it's not as salty as it used to be.”

“The food isn't salty.”

Stiles frowned at Chris' strange incorrect parroting. “That's not - it's less salty.”

“You taste less salt.”

Stiles frowned again.

“I - yes?”

Chris' microscopic displeased look flashed across his face this time. “Thank you, I'll note that.”

Stiles paused, licking his lips. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Stiles, don't worry about it. We'll add more salt.”

“I don't mind, I - “

“Although that reminds me,” Chris interuppted him.

“Yes?” Stiles sighed.

Pain lanced through his body, spearing up his leg to his brain. His eyes were squeezed shut so tight he could see colours exploding behind the lids. He gasped in air he couldn't breathe when it stopped.

Electrocution was a bitch.

Chris crouched down next to Stiles as he lay on his back panting on the floor where he fell. Chris idly ran his fingertips over Stiles' brow, smoothing his long brown hair back in an almost fatherly gesture. Stiles felt a pang of homesickness run through him.

“I never want to hear you talk about my daughter again,” Chris said gently. “Is that clear?”

Stiles nodded, looking up at Chris from the floor.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” Stiles rasped. “It's clear.”

Chris smiled.

“Good boy,” he cooed patting Stiles' cheek. Stiles flinched.

“Now back to your room.”

-

Stiles woke to a stinging slap on his ass. Derek had been gone three days and Stiles had enjoyed the reprieve from the snarling beast. Derek already has his clothes off and dragged Stiles off the bed, forcing him onto his knees. Stiles managed to brace himself before Derek pushed into Stiles' mouth already rock hard, finishing nearly as soon as he started. Stiles swallowed, not wanting a repeat of the beating he recieved the last time he hadn't, panting as Derek ran claws across his scalp. Derek tightened his grip swinging Stiles sideways toward the wall.

“Der -”

Blackness swarmed infront of Stiles' eyes on impact. Great, he thought as he slumped onto the floor while Derek stepped past him, just another day at the office.

-

He is lying on his bed at home, but it's too small, everything is too small for him. His desk, his bed, everything is tiny and he's a giant. He can't get comfortable in his bed so he leaves and moves onto the gurney. It fits much better and he snuggles down as straps tighten across his chest tight and biting. Invisible latex fingers run up his arms, gently pressing and checking and carelessly caressing, holding him securely, because he might drift away from where he's floating on the water. Soothing bobbing and froing. Tranquility. The water level drops slowly and he is soon resting on the bottom on top of a large tree stump. He can feel the rough bark beneath him. It's strong, determined, full of unspent anger and wisdom. Stiles stands renewed. It’s white and clean and sterile, he can only see what counts. There is his double blue bed with a wolf lazing on top of it. Mouth stretched wide in a yawn, teeth glinting. Derek. He turns and there he is the giant he is sleeping with his back turned to him, snuggling with a single hugging a pillow like a person, she's there too but he can't see her because she's not the point, no the point is -

There is something behind him.

-

Stiles woke bolt upright. He can feel his leg charlie and cramp from the relatively small shock his anklet gave off. Concussion watch. Stiles' fingers tentatively pressed against the egg on his head from earlier. He glanced over, Derek hadn't stirred.

Stiles rubbed the sleep from his eyes and instead of turning over and sleeping like he has the last four times, he got out of bed to brush his teeth again.

He must still be half asleep because he's been standing in front of the sink staring at his toothbrush for at least ten minutes now. He squeezed some toothpaste from the dispenser and started brushing in a zombie like fashion. Just as he was sticking his mouth under the tap to rinse Derek appeared behind him. Stiles spluttered, dribbling water down his vest top. His cheeks went red as he tried to wipe it off. Derek just shook his head and slipped two fingers beneath Stiles' waistband, dragging him back to the bed. Then he came on Stiles face and jerked Stiles off with a grip that was just a smidgen too tight to be pleasant, and judging from the beast's face he knew it.


	23. Chapter 23

 

Today Stiles got his face battered against the table then his chair kicked backwards for - _accidentally_ \- scraping his cutlery on the plate.

 

-

 

Today Stiles got a present. A rubix cube. He was so excited he couldn't stop crying. Derek smiled and nuzzled into his side watching transfixed as Stiles played with it.

 

-

 

Today Stiles was made to watch as Derek ripped each cube off his rubix and pulverised them into tiny flat pieces. Derek had gotten jealous of it.

 

-

 

Today Stiles was bitten. Hard. The ensuing struggle resulted in tearing. After he woke up from the tranqs there was some beautiful stitching under his bandage. Chris said he'd probably scar. Stiles thinks he's right when he sees the ugly livid purple not-a-pretty-half-circle-more-like-a-horrific-jagged-line-thing on his bicep every day.

 

-

 

Today Stiles decided it's Christmas. He sang carols all day and decorated by ripping up the bedding. When Derek came back he had a sour look on his face, but did nothing to stop him, and even helped by lifting him up to decorate the light fixture.

 

-

 

Today Stiles' voice is hoarse and his knuckles are bloody because he continually punched the shower wall whilest screaming for his dad.

 

-

 

Today during Stiles' check-up Stiles actually managed to make Chris laugh. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as a hot, wonderful feeling flooded his body, making his face hot and his tongue tied. He had a smile sprouting on his face he couldn't control for the rest of the day.

 

-

 

Today (lastnight) Stiles had a wet dream about Chris. He's so mortified he can't even look Chris in the face.

 

-

 

Today Derek gave him a massage that left him boneless. It was awesome.

 

-

 

Today Derek pounded him into the mattress so hard they broke the bed. Neither of them laughed.

 


	24. Chapter 24

The room was black, with a red light gently filling the room every few seconds from the wide open door - the cages were torn to bits and strewn across the room. How had Stiles slept through that?

There was a familiar figure standing at the side of the bed. He was tall and skinny with a long wooden staff in one hand. His shadow was tall and red in the light. He gave a crooked grin and a wink to Stiles when he caught him looking. He rested a knee on the bed and reached down, pressing a finger to Stiles’ cheek.

“What’s a kid like you doing in a place like this,” he sighed out, sounding sad.

Stiles tensed up against Derek’s side at the touch. Derek reacted, tightened his grip slightly and pulling Stiles up onto his chest. The stranger rolled his eyes and leaned his face over Derek’s, giving an Eskimo kiss. Derek snuffled and lifted a hand to cup the back of the stranger’s neck, the other hand went to the stranger’s waist, letting go of Stiles entirely. Stiles slowly sat up and eased away. Derek gave no reaction.

“Sourwolf.”

Derek’s eyes flew open.

“Ready to get out of this dump?”

Derek growled and rubbed his nose against the stranger’s.

“Good,” he replied with a smile, leaning back and standing up properly. He cast an eye around the room and then frowned. “Oh,” he said curiously, heading over to the drawers, picking up the hoodie. “I had wondered where I left this,” he said grinning then throwing it on easily. Fit him perfectly. Derek was on his feet, staring intently at the stranger. He noticed immediately and threw a fond expression to Derek. “Hey, come here,” he said opening his arms. Derek burrowed himself into the stranger’s arms. The stranger was a little bit taller than Derek, but so much thinner, gaunt like. He looked kinda ill. Kinda like Derek but worse. And he looked like...

“The next step is to cleanse you, alright? It's gonna feel weird,” he said stepping back and pulling a pink stone from his pocket. “Hold this,” he said placing the stone in Derek's hand. “I want you to remember how you felt when you pulled Isaac out of that ditch and offered him the bite. Your first beta. Your first alpha act. Before any of this happened to us. Just remember.”

Derek closed his eyes as the stranger planted his staff on the floor and stared. Derek then fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, shaking like he was freezing cold. The stranger was down beside him, murmuring over him.

Suddenly, Stiles felt like different, yet the same, like he had rubbed the last bit of sleep from his eyes, like when he got his braces out and he couldn't help but notice they were gone constantly rubbing his tongue and lips against his teeth. Like something was missing, but it was better that way. Like...

There was nothing behind him.

Derek was wrapped up in the stranger's arms again, like he was being comforted.

“That's cleaned out the magic gunk you've been subjected too. You ought to be able to talk now too. God, do you how scared I was when I saw you and you wouldn't even...” The stranger gave a lopsided grin. “Sorry about shooting you.” Derek kissed him and the stranger laughed.

“Our window is closing, I can't keep this up for much longer. We need to move. You got my back?” he muttered into Derek’s hair. Derek nodded and stepped up with the stranger. The stranger grabbed his hand.

“Let’s go!” he exclaimed going for the door. “Later kid,” he shouted glibly behind him at Stiles. Derek stopped, the stranger was pulled to a halt with him. Derek turned and looked back at him. Stiles swallowed.

“Get out,” Stiles stated. Derek took a deep breath and opened his mouth, ready to speak, but Stiles cut him off. “I don't want to hear it. After all this time of wishing and praying you would talk to me... I just don't want to hear it.”

Derek nodded.

Then left.


	25. Chapter 25

 

“And these are your discharge papers.”

 

The man in the faded pale yellow shirt passed over a piece of paper and a pen. He had a sallow, tired look to his face, like the Division had drained the colour from his skin long ago. It was a large room, maybe a ball room or reception of some sort, crammed full of little grey cubicals which surreally clashed with the room. Beepings and ringings and typing and people and talking happening all around. A hive of activity.

 

Stiles hated it.

 

“The papers include a confidentiality agreement, a non-disclosure, and a few clauses which affect your salary,” he continued on in monotone. Stiles spazzed a little at the word salary. More like a payoff. “A copy of your contract will be given to you before you finish the exodus process but after you sign. Should you choose not to sign -”

 

“I’m signing,” Stiles cut in. Not signing meant staying. Who knows what they’d do to him then.

 

“Sign both pages at the bottom, please,” he droned. Stiles scrawled his name at the bottom of the pages and pushed them back, fidgeting and flinching at everything.

 

The anklet was removed. There was a medical. Then a shower. The clothes he had been wearing lying out on a table for him. Stiles nearly cried at the sight of the graphic t-shirt his fourteen year old self had just bought. His watch, with a batman logo. His phone, no charge. Converse trainers.

 

Of course most of it didn’t fit and he had to pull on the blue sweats that were thoughtfully laid out beside his personal affects. Stiles shivered at the thought that this situation might happen often.

 

He signed for his stuff and received a plastic bag to put the extra clothes and shoes in, a manilla envelope for his papers, and he was also given a pair of flip flops for his feet. Stiles felt like he was in a surreal dream. He stood in the entrance hall. Apparently he was in a manor house. He stood in the doorway watching the road, waiting for… his dad, Stiles supposed. There were two handlers standing in the courtyard. Cigarette break. Chatting. Like normal people at a normal job. Stiles nearly went into hysterics, switching between giggling and crying before settling on detached disbelief.

 

It was a long nerve wracking wait, nearly four hours according to the grandfather clock in the entrance hall before Stiles saw the car speeding up the long estate driveway. He felt all the tension uncurl in his gut. Dad. That was dad. That had to be dad. It skidded to a stop in front of the doors and his dad sprung out of the driver’s side.

 

“Dad!” Stiles yelled, forgetting about everything he was holding and barrelling straight into his father’s arms. His dad gripped him tight.

 

“Stiles. Stiles, Stiles, oh my god, Stiles. I’m sorry I’m late. I’m sorry, I’m here now, Stiles,” his father babbled into Stiles’ shoulder. Some of it sounded like complete nonsense to Stiles, but he didn’t care.

 

He was going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I will answer pretty much anything in the comments, maybe this will become a series, probably not, I'm on tumblr at abluemountainashtardis.tumblr.com


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